


Backstage Of The Universe

by Lynds



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: (in flashbacks) - Freeform, Bart Doesn't Understand Why Murder Is Not OK Anymore, Bart Is A Murder Duckling, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Charles Being Concerned, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, Charles' Shitty Family, Cherik Adopts Blackwing Kids, Concentration Camps, Crossover, Dark Charles, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Has PTSD, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Sweetheart, Fix-It, Government Experimentation, Holocaust, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt Charles, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Mona Is Adorable, Not Compliant With Anything Past DoFP, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Poor Charles, Poor Erik, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Priest is His Own Warning, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), Projects As Children, Protective Erik, Referenced - Freeform, Riggins Is The Worst, So Don't Ask Me How It Works Here, The Universe Is A Lazy Bitch, The X-Men Serum Makes Zero Sense, temporarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Erik left Charles half crushed by a stadium - Charles wasn't exactly expecting to see him again after that. He certainly wasn't expecting him to sneak into his bedroom only a few weeks later, trailing seven not-quite-mutant, not-quite-human children and a young man in a coma.  Against Hank and Raven's wishes, he takes the lot of them in, but he's damned if Erik's just going to walk out again and leave him with a group of traumatised children. Anyway, Bart in particular seems to have become attached to him.But Blackwing seems to have been more than just another shadowy government research facility torturing small children. Because when Charles and Erik try to stop the children from carrying out the Universe's instructions, the Universe might just start to think they're better off with Mr Priest...The Cherik-Dirk Gently Crossover you never knew you wanted!





	1. Charles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/gifts).

> This is pretty much all FlightInFlame's fault - she prompted it, worked through the entire plot with me, and then read the fic AS I wrote it and commented on every paragraph with such nice words I couldn't actually cope and could only blush furiously as I wrote more! 
> 
> If you haven't watched Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency on Netflix, I hope you decide to, because it's fantastic. But this can probably be read without any prior knowledge of the children, because they certainly aren't children in the show. Charles, Erik, Raven and Hank learn about the kids and their world as the story progresses - if you know the show, you'll be able to guess what's coming, but if you haven't, then you'll still be able to follow the story! I hope you enjoy ^_^
> 
> For those of you who consider Dirk's old name to be essentially a deadname, please be warned I use it exclusively for the first few chapters. Dirk doesn't tell anyone his real name until he feels like he can trust them, and that won't be until chapter 7.

Charles opened feverish eyes to a vague, domed shape hovering over him. He squinted, blinked, and considered the likelihood that he’d had a relapse and was dreaming again.

“Charles,” said the dome, and, well, that sounded real enough. Even so…

“Are you a dream or a nightmare?” he asked, his voice hoarse with disuse.

“Probably a nightmare to you,” said Erik, and moved out of Charles’ field of vision. He could hear his cloak rustling, hear soft murmuring. He strained his neck, trying to see through the drugged haze and the artificial dusk of the darkened room. He could just make out Erik taking that hateful helmet off, looking down at Charles dispassionately.

“Back on the serum again, are we, Charles? I should have known you’d retreat into your shell once more.”

Charles glared at him, well aware he looked about as intimidating as a wet lettuce. Probably as attractive as one as well. “What do you want, Erik?” he ground out.

Erik was silent so long that Charles thought he’d scared him off. “I need your help,” he said at last, his voice strained, like it physically pained him to ask.

Charles struggled to prop himself up, wincing at the pain. “You - ah!”

Erik rushed forward to support him, his brow crinkled. “I thought you were on the serum, what is—“

It all happened so quickly. One moment Erik was bent over him, so close that Charles could see the curls sticking to his temples with old sweat, hovering over his prone form like his every wet dream since the sixties, and the next moment he was gone in a streak of blue scales and fur.

“Raven!” he cried, struggling around, he didn’t even know why, what could he do? “Raven, Hank, stop, he—“

There was a blur of motion from the curtains, and suddenly everything went very still.

“Bart,” said Erik, breathing hard and holding his ribs. “Bart, don’t.”

The small child sitting astride Raven’s chest pressed the massive hunting knife further against Raven’s throat. Raven held her hands up by her head and held perfectly still. 

Hank, on the other hand, was wrapped in a pink fluffy duvet, struggling against the folds of material, his teeth bared in a snarl. Charles stared from one to the other in this surreal tryptich, and thought that there was no possible way he couldn’t be having a fever dream.

“Bart,” said Erik again, sitting up and keeping his hands outstretched. Charles couldn’t work out why he wasn’t simply taking the knife away, or blunting it, anything. “Do you really want to kill her?”

“Not really,” said the little red-haired girl, her voice strangely gravelly. “The universe in’t telling me to kill her. But Mr Priest told me I had’ta make exceptions sometimes, and she tried to hurt you.”

She leaned further on the knife and Charles cried out in wordless distress, his hand reaching out to her. She turned, distracted. “Hey, are you Mr Erik’s friend?”

“Please,” Charles begged. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“‘M’kay,” she shrugged, and stood up. “But if she tries to hurt Mr Erik again I’ll probably kill her.” She stood up and went to Erik, helping him to his feet and then holding onto his hand. 

Charles slumped back into the bed, boneless with relief, and almost immediately regretted it as pain shot up from his pelvis.

“He’s hurt,” said another little voice from behind the curtains. Charles tried to control his breathing, turning to the shifting material in a futile effort to distract himself. A flurry of _shhh_ followed the declaration. “What? He is,” said the voice again.

“Erik,” said Charles, daring to shift to find a more comfortable position. “I think you’re going to need to explain.”

But Erik was coming closer, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What’s the matter, Charles?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my bedroom’s been invaded by--”

“No, you’re… why aren’t you getting up?”

Hank made furious muffled noises from inside the duvet burrito while Raven struggled to free him. Bart giggled. “Mona’s caught him.”

“Mona,” called Erik, still not taking his eyes off Charles. “Would you please release Charles’ friend?”

As Charles watched, the duvet turned into yet another little girl, a moppet with a black bob who skittered away from Hank and ran straight up to Charles’ bed, crawling in beside him and peering at him. “You’re hurt,” she said. “Your friend’s furry. I like to cuddle him. Would you like to cuddle me? I can be a teddy for you.”

Charles blinked at her, and she turned into a teddy. Charles picked it up - picked _her_ up. It was impossible, but…

“Is that Mr Snuffles?” Raven asked, coming closer, keeping her distance from Bart.

“It… it can’t be. Kurt burnt him,” Charles said, stroking the threadbare head, the bald patch where he used to stroke his thumb over Mr Snuffles’ paw every night to soothe himself to sleep. He blinked fiercely and looked up at the others. “What is going on, Erik?”

Erik took a deep breath. “I found them. They were in an institution I… put an end to, they called themselves Blackwing.” He cleared his throat and turned his face away for a moment, gritting his teeth. “I thought they were mutants, but they’re not… they’re something different. My powers won’t work on them. Either way, I couldn’t leave them there, Charles, not…” He swallowed. “Not to be tested on. Not like that.”

Charles rested the teddy on his chest as Erik looked down at Bart. “How many?” he asked softly.

“You can’t be serious, Professor,” said Hank. “You can’t possibly be willing to help this asshole after--”

“Please, Hank, not in front of the children.”

“Hank’s right, Charles,” Raven said. “You can’t trust him. It could be a trap.”

“And I can’t turn away small children who need our help. Children who’ve been tortured, by the sounds of it, regardless of whether Erik brings them or we find them ourselves. This was always the plan, you know that. Finding young people to help - making a sanctuary for mutant children to find themselves. And these children… well, they might not be mutants, but they need us.”

“Yes, we all want to help the kids,” Hank said. “But you can’t be dealing with stress like this, not yet. Not until the serum’s had a chance to work.”

“Will someone tell me why Charles is back on the serum at all?” Erik snapped. “I thought we established--”

“You didn’t establish shit,” Raven snarled. “You tried to kill me, and you dropped a fucking stadium on my brother. Do you know how long it takes to realise that your pelvis is shattered if you’re a paraplegic with no sensation below your waist? Huh? Long enough for serious infections to set in, that’s how.”

She shoved past Erik and started checking Charles’ IV, carefully repositioning him so he wasn’t lying crooked again. Charles turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to see Erik’s pity, or his disgust. He wasn’t sure what would be worse. He realised he was stroking the teddy, the soft fur soothing him, and forced his fingers to lie still.

“In the end we realised the only way to heal the Professor was to put him back on the serum. He’s been on it for just over a week now - it’s cleared up the infection and set his bones,” said Hank, sounding exhausted. Charles closed his eyes as guilt washed through him. “Even so, he’s had a pretty rough couple of months - we’ve been able to heal his bones and chase off the infection, but he can feel the pain of it, and he can’t use his powers.”

“And when the serum wears off?” Erik asked, his voice strained.

“His telepathy will come back, and the sensation in his lower body will go again.” Hank put his hand on Charles’ shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Erik,” said Charles tightly. “I’m not abandoning mutantkind again for any longer than I have to. We’ll be ready to wean me off the serum in a couple of days.”

“That’s not what I--”

“I can eat your pain, mister,” said a little boy, his face mere inches from Charles’ pillow. Charles yelped and jumped backwards, then moaned as the pain sliced through his body.

“How many kids did you fucking bring, Erik?” Raven snapped, squeezing Charles’ hand and stroking his hair back off his face as he blinked back reflexive tears.

“Vogel didn’t mean it,” said a deeper voice, and Charles turned his head to see three young teenagers standing around the little boy. All of them looked skinny and rangy, like stray dogs who’d caught too many cruel kicks.

“Technically he did mean it,” said one of the boys, a black kid with limbs too big for his poor emaciated body. “But we won’t, we promise, don’t punish him, Mister?”

“I wouldn’t,” Charles said, his heart bleeding for these mistreated children. 

“Are there any more?” Hank growled at Erik.

Erik cleared his throat. “Come on out, Svlad.”


	2. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik introduces the Holistics, and then tries to leave. Bart and Charles are not having any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that Dirk has told Erik his old name, he doesn't trust him enough to use Dirk Gently... yet!

By the time Charles was settled and dosed up with morphine, Erik had coaxed the last of the children out from behind the curtains. There was even a middle-aged man in a coma laid out carefully on the floor, and how all of them had managed to hide, Charles wasn’t sure - for that matter, how Erik had managed to get them into Charles’ bedroom, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

Erik put his hand on the red-headed girls’ wild locks. “This is Bart,” he said. “She seems to be able to open any door she wants and, uh… she’s rather…”

“I’m a holistic assassin,” she said cheerfully. “This hot chocolate’s really good, Mr Hank.”

“A holistic--” Charles shook his head. “A _holistic assassin?”_

Erik met his eyes and shrugged helplessly. “She, uh… she kills. Very effectively.”

“And I can’t be killed,” she added. She must have been eight years old, dressed in a grey jumpsuit, swinging her legs over the edge of the desk.

“Right,” said Charles weakly. 

“This is Mona,” said Erik quickly, moving on to the girl with black hair. She was wearing a shapeless white dress and sat on the sofa, poking at her marshmallows. “Mona is a shapeshifter, she can--”

“I’m a holistic actress,” she said in her dreamy voice. “I can be anything I like.”

Charles smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll get along very well with Raven here,” he said.

“These four boys are holistic vampires, they say,” said Erik, pointing at the group of teenagers and the little boy in the middle of them. The three older ones hunched slightly towards the little one, casting suspicious glances around the room. “Martin, Cross, Vogel and Gripps,” Erik said, pointing at each one.

“And what does a holistic vampire do?” Hank asked suspiciously.

“We feed off strong feelings,” said Gripps. He put his cocoa down and glanced at the final child, huddled in the far corner of the sofa, who hunched his shoulders even further.

“Are you hungry now?” Charles asked, concerned. “Do you not eat regular food?”

Martin side-eyed him. “Whadya gonna do about it?” he asked.

“Well,” he frowned, considering. “I don’t know what I can do about it, but… can we help? I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but--”

“They scare you,” said the last boy, peering up at him out of big eyes. “They… they yell and scare you and then eat it.” He looked over at them, and then ducked his head right over his drink.

Charles looked up at Erik helplessly. Erik sighed. “This is Svlad,” he said, patting him gently on the shoulder. “He led us out of the complex after someone set a self-destruct.”

Svlad flickered his eyes up to Charles, then back down. Mona drank the last of her hot chocolate and climbed over the vampire boys to Svlad, wrapping her arms around him. “Do you want me to be a jacket for you?” she asked.

Svlad smiled and patted her arm. “Yes please,” he whispered. He glanced up at them. “Can it… can it be yellow, please?”

One minute she was a little girl, the next, there was a yellow jacket with a black stripe draped over Dirk’s shoulders. He smiled to himself and snuggled into it.

“And what about…” Hank gestured at the comatose man he was checking over.

“That’s the boy,” Mona said cheerfully. “He’s the holistic dreamer, the nice snail told me so.”

There was silence. Erik shrugged. “I couldn’t leave him.”

Charles took a deep breath and glanced between Hank and Raven. They shrugged. “You’ve already made your decision, Charles,” Raven said, a fond smirk twisting up one cheek. 

“I’ll see how many rooms we’ve got clean,” Hank sighed. 

“Thank you my friend,” said Charles, squeezing his hand, his fingers sinking into the soft fur. 

Vogel was staring at Svlad hungrily. “Hey, kid,” said Raven suddenly, jerking her chin at him. “You eat anger?”

Vogel and the other boys nodded vigorously. 

Raven glared at Erik and spread her arms. “Eat your fill.”

Erik just rolled his eyes and nodded at the boys. Martin, Cross, Vogel and Gripps approached Raven and stood around her, glanced at each other, and opened their mouths. Charles watched, half in fascination, half in fear for Raven, as a blue light ran from her body to their mouths.

Vogel whooped and jumped onto the table. The other three stepped back. Raven slumped, and Charles reached out immediately, but she sat up and shook herself off. “That was weird.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Bit tired. But mostly it’s… it’s like I’m not pissed off at _him_ any more.” She frowned. “Damn.”

Charles smiled, and found himself catching Erik’s eye, and for a moment it was like the old amusement was sparking between them. Then Erik turned and went to the window. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Hey, wait, you’re _going?_ Just like that?” Bart demanded, leaping off the desk to run after him.

Erik glanced up at Charles again, not long enough to hold his gaze. “It’s for the best,” he said.

“But… but you’re my friend,” she said, anger rising in her voice.

“Charles will be better at looking after you.”

“I don’t care about Charles,” she snapped. “I care about you. I like you. You’re my friend.”

“Bart--”

“No, you said I could be your friend!”

Erik dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am your friend,” he said, holding her gaze with absolute conviction. “I always will be, OK? But it’s not safe for me to be around you, and Charles doesn’t want me here, and--”

“And perhaps you’d better let Charles speak for himself,” Charles snapped. 

Erik’s jaw clicked shut and he looked over to Charles. 

Charles glared at him. “You don’t get to bring a group of traumatised children to my house- my school, simply tell me their names and leave again. You need to face the consequences of your actions, Erik. And…” his shoulders slumped a little. “Well, we probably need all the help we can get.”

Erik stood up again, his face impassive, giving nothing away. Finally he nodded. “I’ll go help Hank with the rooms,” he said, and marched out the door.


	3. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hank and Raven are not happy about Erik being in the mansion, but Charles has never been particularly good at listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (By the way, there will be some Erik chapters soon! It was just that the first four are from Charles' POV!)

“Well,” Hank said, pushing the door open. “We’ve got three rooms that are already habitable, the guy in the coma can go into the lab, and we’ll get a few other rooms on-“ he trailed off. “Professor, what are you doing?”

“He’s teaching Svlad how to play chess,” Raven said dryly. “Did you expect any less?”

“Well, she’s been playing ‘what are the limits of your shifting power’ with Mona, so I really don’t feel like she has any room to talk about me being predictable,” Charles said, moving his knight to take Svlad’s pawn. “Anyway, Svlad is not only the only one interested in learning to play, he’s also incredibly talented.”

“S’cuz he’s the holistic guesser,” grunted Martin. “He’s ps-“

“I’m not!” Svlad said, scrambling back and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I’m not psychic, I just… it doesn’t work like that.”

“It’s OK, Svlad,” said Charles soothingly, holding out his hands. “I’m not psychic either. Lots of people think I am.”

“They do?” he said, unfurling a little and peering up at Charles with wide eyes.

Charles nodded and smiled, and tried not to melt completely.

“What can you do?” Bart said, climbing onto the bed beside him and shuffling up to lean against the headboard.

“Well, I can’t do it now because of the serum, but I can usually read minds,” he said.

“Can you read my mind when I’m a teddy bear?” Mona asked, appearing suddenly. Raven yelped as the sofa she’d been sitting on disappeared.

“I don’t know,” Charles said, smiling down at her. The little girl crawled up beside him and tucked her head on his shoulder. “Oh… OK… are you OK there? Umm. I promise I’ll try, when I get my powers back.”

Hank chuckled, and Charles narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, like I said,” Hank continued, not intimidated at all. “We’ve got three rooms, Erik’s looking for some cleaning stuff - Charles, you can’t possibly mean to accommodate him as well.”

Charles glanced at Bart. “The children are attached to him, Hank.”

Hank looked at him flatly. “Sure, Prof. It’s the kids who’re attached.”

Raven snorted. Charles glared at her too. His glares were becoming _less_ effective, it seemed. “Oh, come on, Charles, you know you’ve always given him way more leeway than he deserved.”

Charles looked away, frowning. “I don’t--”

“He dropped. A stadium. On you,” she said, standing up and marching out, her hands clenched into fists beside her thighs.

Charles sighed and closed his eyes. 

“You must be real tough, Mister Professor,” said Cross, his chin resting on his knees. “How did you get out from under a stadium?”

“Especially one that Mister Erik dropped,” Bart nodded. “He didn’t let any of the Blackwing guys out, that’s for sure.”

“It wasn’t a _whole_ stadium,” Charles said weakly.

“It was enough,” Hank growled. “I still need to check you out and see how much damage you did squirming around like that earlier.”

“I’m fine, Hank,” he sighed. “You said yourself, all bone is back in its usual place. I’m still planning to get off the serum on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? Charles, come on, we’ve talked about this. With the serum you can tell when you’re doing something that puts your body in danger. Without it you can’t feel any pain, so you can’t tell when you’re doing damage.”

“Why can’t you feel anything?” Bart asked.

“Bart,” said Erik from the doorway, making Charles startle and Hank growl under his breath. “That’s an invasive question.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Charles. “She’s only curious.” He turned to Bart. “My spine is damaged. The nerves below the damage don’t send messages up to my brain any more, so I can’t feel my legs, and I can’t use them any more.”

“How’d that happen?” she asked, her head on one side.

Charles flickered an awkward smile. “I got shot.”

Bart frowned. “Huh. When I shoot people they just die. That’s mean to break your back. Who did that?”

“It was an accident,” he said, putting his hand over Hank’s, trying to calm him down. He absolutely did not look at Erik. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he said. “What matters right now is you children getting a bedroom each.”

“I don’t wanna,” said Vogel. The bigger boys hushed him quickly.

“No, it’s OK, boys. What do you mean, Vogel?” asked Charles.

“I don’t wanna be by myself,” he said, his eyes already watering. “Want to stay with Martin.”

Martin hushed him and whispered in his ear, and the little boy settled down a little, still leaning into Martin’s side. Charles bit his lip and tried to hold back his grief and anger for these children who’d obviously been treated terribly. “That’s absolutely fine, Vogel. You can share rooms if you like. Or you can have your own room, if you like. So how many rooms do we need?”

“I want to share with Bart!” Mona said, leaning up on her elbow and smiling at Bart. “Oh… or maybe with D--” she slapped her hand over her mouth, looking at Svlad. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Svlad shook his head quickly, glancing up at Charles, still saying nothing. Charles frowned slightly, but turned away from Svlad when he looked like he was trying to shrink. There was a lot more going on with all of these children than they’d learned yet, and his heart ached for them.

“You can stay with me,” Bart said. “Or you can go to Svlad if you like. Not like you need a bed, is it?”

“I can be a really good bed!”

“I’m sure you can,” Charles smiled.

“We want to stay together,” said Martin, his chin jutting out. “We don’t need a bed or anything, just need each other.”

Hank cocked his head on one side. “Of course you can have beds,” he said. “Unless you don’t want one. We can just make _Mister Erik_ move three more beds in that big room.” He smiled at Erik, more like a snarl.

Erik just shrugged.

“Will you be staying, then, Erik?” Charles asked, watching Mona turn into a little toy car and zoom around his bed, and very deliberately not looking at Erik, or allowing any preferences to show themselves in his voice.

Erik was quiet for long enough that Charles chanced a look at him. He couldn’t decipher the look on his face, though. “I suppose I have to,” Erik said at last. 

“Fantastic,” Hank growled. He stomped out, pausing to glare at Erik. “Try to avoid breaking him any more, will you? Not like you’re ever around to pick up the fucking pieces.”

“Hank,” Charles sighed, but he was gone. Erik cast one last look at Charles, and left. Charles closed his eyes, let out a long breath, and then smiled up at the children. “Who would like to choose a book from the shelves over there? Gripps? Oh, ‘50,000 Leagues Under The Sea’, an excellent choice.”

“I like numbers,” said Gripps, smiling proudly.

“And I like Jules Verne,” Charles said. “Right, gather round and I’ll read you a few chapters until dinnertime.”


	4. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles heals, and the children settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never ask me how the serum works. It offends my biology brain. Let's just say that if the film-makers can create a serum that affects both DNA and spines in new and magical ways, then I can use it to get rid of infections, and unlike the DNA and spine stuff, it won't go back to square one when he comes off it. Let's just say Hank's made some modifications, OK?

Hank insisted that Charles spend at least two days on absolute bed rest, after that. Charles put up a token protest - there was so much to do with the new children! - but when Raven put aside her frustration, sat beside him on the bed and looked at him very seriously, he knew he had already lost.

“Please, Charles,” she said. “I can’t see you like that again. I thought I’d lost you, so just… trust Hank to know your body’s limits, even if you don’t?”

He slumped back on the pillow and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to leave you to deal with the children all on your own, not when it was my decision to keep them here.”

“As if any of us would have made a different decision,” Raven snorted. “Turning away little kids - what do you think of us, Charles, really?”

The days passed quickly. Between Hank’s regular visits to take him off the morphine completely, and adjust the serum levels, check his range of motion and walk him around a bit, Charles barely had the energy for anything more than sleep. Sometimes he heard the children whispering outside his door, or running past, or talking to Raven. Once he was sure he’d seen Erik walk in, hesitate for a moment and walk straight out, but he was half asleep at the time, and couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a dream.

Charles woke slowly on the morning of the fourth day and gingerly stretched his limbs to see how well the serum had done this time. The strange buzzing of fever had long gone, the ache in his hips and back had subsided to almost nothing, and for a long moment he lay in a narrow beam of sunlight, moving his legs to feel the sheet and his pyjamas against his skin, and reminded himself why he needed to stop taking the serum.

He rolled over, came face to face with a five year old boy, screamed, and threw himself backwards out of his bed.

Vogel giggled. Martin, Gripps and Cross laughed out loud, and Charles winced, banging his head on the floor. “Good morning, children,” he said with a wry smile.

Mona appeared where his pillow had been and peered down at him. “Are you playing a game?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Not intentionally. How long have you been my pillow?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night so I came to see you, and you were sleeping so I thought if I cuddled up with you maybe I could sleep because you looked peaceful so I thought maybe I would be peaceful too.”

Charles opened his mouth, then closed it and thought for a moment. “Hmm. OK. Would you mind asking permission before you sleep in my bed, please, Mona?”

“But you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“And I appreciate that, I do,” he said, sitting up and stretching his legs to see if he’d done any more damage. “But I think I’d rather be woken up and discuss with you how to help. It may be strange to you but I’m not happy with the thought that I’ve been sleeping on a small child.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mister Charles, I was a pillow at the time, not a child,” she said happily.

Charles bit his lip. “Yes… I suppose that’s true. Even so…”

“It’s polite,” Raven said from the doorway. “Giving people a choice. Not deciding what’s best for them - and we’re going to do that with you guys as well, aren’t we, Charles? We won’t decide what’s best for you without asking first.”

Charles smiled up at her sadly. “Yes, of course.”

She quirked her lips at him and held out a hand to lift him to his feet. “You’re looking loads better,” she said in a softer voice, both hands on his shoulders. “How’re you feeling?”

He took a deep breath. “Ready to come off the serum soon.”

She held his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “OK. Yeah, OK.” She took a deep breath and turned to the kids. “Who wants pancakes?”

The children glanced at each other. 

“You guys know what pancakes are?” Raven said, raising an eyebrow.

Martin shrugged. Mona shook her head. “Do we eat them?”

“We don’t,” Cross said.

“Ah, yes, that’s true,” Charles nodded, lowering himself to the bed carefully. “Now; do you need to eat particularly strong emotions, or will any do?”

“Strong ones,” said Martin, jerking the words out like giving information was painful to him. “Won’t come out without being strong.”

“So far we've been turning the news on and putting Hank and Erik in front of it, that gets them arguing in about ten minutes flat,” said Raven dryly. 

“That’s unsurprising,” Charles smiled. “But I hope we can come up with an alternative.”

Raven snorted. “What, you don’t think life would be easier without constant rage?”

Charles looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “A life without strong emotions is like walking through tar. You can barely summon up the energy to get out of bed, because what’s the point? It’s not like anything will make you feel - either bad or good. When life is flat, why bother to live it?”

Raven’s forehead creased in almost physical pain, and Charles turned away. “Let’s go downstairs, children. We’ll talk to Hank and see if he can suggest a good alternative. As emotions and thoughts work mostly on electrical impulses, we may be able to simulate some of them, at least to give you some nutrition. But first,” he gestured at the doorway. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.”

Once he’d struggled into his slacks and a button up shirt, he looked at his wheelchair, folded against the wall. He should use it, he knew it - the serum had mostly done its job, over weeks of ridiculously accelerated healing, stitching together sinew and bone, banishing the infections that had set in again and again since the stadium. 

Raven had told him he’d been insensible for days. They’d only put him on the serum as a last resort, without his consent, when even the screaming fever dreams he’d been telepathically projecting had trickled to a halt, like a tap drying up.

When he’d woken up for the first time - God, was it only seven days ago? - Raven had cried. He hadn’t seen her actually cry since they were teens.

He should use the wheelchair. But his hips ached whether he was sitting or standing, and the serum had put him back together - was still fixing him up - and he wanted to walk. 

He wanted to look Erik in the eye again, do it over, without the grief and anger of last time. He had to show Erik he’d moved on. No matter how much of a lie that was.

Charles picked out a crutch from the wardrobe, one small concession to Hank and Raven’s concern, and walked gingerly down to the kitchen.


	5. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik is a giant ball of angst, Mona is a paperclip among other things, and Charles is an insensitive idiot.

When Charles walked into the kitchen that morning, his hair falling over his brow, blue eyes flushed with concentration and the last vestiges (he hoped) of illness, Erik’s mind seemed to freeze, the coffee pot still tilted over his mug. Charles glanced up as he lowered himself onto a seat, his face alight with triumph, and caught Erik’s gaze. The moment stretched to infinity, elastic and fragile, and Erik shattered it, turning away to add milk to his cup, his hand not shaking though by rights it should have been.

Raven had found him that first night, her eyes calm. “Sit down asshole.”

“I thought you weren’t angry with me any more,” he smirked.

“No, not at all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. And now I’ve got a clear head I know exactly what I need to do. Now sit your ass down.”

She told him how Charles looked when he’d been a breath away from death. How his skin looked yellow and waxy, swollen and oedemaed with infection. How Hank had made the decision to inject him with the serum because Charles had been insensate and Raven had been hysterical.

Now Erik turned his head, startled by Bart’s raucous laugh. Charles smiled at her, a bite of Raven’s pancakes hovering on his fork, and Erik had to leave the room, take himself away from that tableau as delicate as spun glass.

‘Try to avoid breaking him any more,’ Hank had said, but Erik had never meant for any of this to happen. Charles had meant the world to him since the moment he’d pulled him from the ocean; Erik had been powerless to turn away. And then Cuba had happened, Charles lying broken in his arms, and Erik had wanted to tear the world apart, find someone else to blame, because it couldn’t be—

“You did this,” he said to himself in the mirror, and Charles’ voice, tight with pain was what he heard. Erik was nothing but a weapon, nothing but rage, and that serenity Charles had given him was just an illusion, a hope as easily stolen as his mother’s life.

And all because of Erik.

Raven was right. Every time Erik came near Charles, he broke him a little more. Erik wondered if it was his fate to bring the greatest pain to those he loved the most, and laughed. Of course it was. This is what Shaw had made him - a weapon with only his anger to rely on, only the fight. 

He would help settle the children, and then leave, before he could do any more damage.

***

Erik tried to keep out of the way, stay aloof and as uninvolved as he could. After all, if he was going to be leaving them soon, it wouldn’t do to let the children get attached.

It became clear very quickly that it was way too late for that. He’d thought that Bart’s insistence on him staying was down to an over-tired child’s tantrum, but in the days that followed, she refused to leave his side.

Then he’d told himself that she was out of the ordinary, but Martin and Vogel shadowed him too. Cross and Gripps, of course, were never far behind, although they preferred Hank’s company. Cross because Hank was always ready to talk about science at any opportunity, and Gripps because Hank’s brilliant blue fur was perfect for filling with colourful butterfly clips and barrettes.

And although Mona adored Charles and Raven both, she seemed just as likely to appear as a teddy for Charles or something totally random for fellow shifter Raven, as a piece of metal for Erik to hover and twist absently above his outstretched palm.

He hadn’t realised it was her at first - he had simply found a paper clip in his pocket and started stretching it into strange shapes, walking down the hallway. Charles, back in his wheelchair and off the serum, paused, frowning, then yelped “dear God, Erik, put the paper clip down, that’s a child!”

Erik, startled by the wave of pure panic Charles projected (and, honestly, the strangest sentence of his life as well), dropped the paper clip. Sure enough, it turned into a rubber ball the moment it hit the ground, bounced to Charles and landed in his lap as Mona.

“Hello Charles!” she squealed, cuddling him tight. “Did you see Erik shifting me? It was so much fun!”

Erik’s initial assessment that the children were immune to their powers had quickly been proven incomplete. It seemed to be more complicated, and hard to predict than that. Erik, for instance, could control metal around them, even lifting Bart into the air by the buckles of her dungarees. But as soon as she picked up a weapon, all their powers seemed to pass around or through her, having no effect as the adults held out their hands and begged her to be careful in impotent panic.

They still had very little clear idea of where their powers came from; they tested negative for the X-gene, and otherwise seemed to be human. Apart from the shapeshifting and inability to eat anything other than emotions, and so on.

Svlad took the longest to warm up to his new life, and seemed to avoid all of them as much as possible. Erik was content to leave him to it, after all, he didn’t much like the company of others. But Charles couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Svlad,” he said at breakfast one morning, smiling kindly at the little boy. “I thought you might want to do some work today, learning how to control your power.”

Svlad’s face drained of colour and he stared around the table at all the other children, who refused to meet his eye. “No! I’m… I’m sorry, I’ll be good I promise, I…”

“Svlad… oh God, no, I didn’t—“ Charles’ eyes widened. “Oh, you poor child, I won’t—“

He reached out to Svlad, who stumbled off his chair and raced away. Raven looked from face to face around the table. “What was that?”

Charles was looking wildly at all the children, then turned frantic blue eyes on Erik.

Erik just looked flatly at him, his fury banked to its usual red glow. “Really, Charles, I bring a bunch of children in from a CIA testing facility and you think offering them the chance to test their abilities is going to be a treat for them?”

“I… I was trying to be kind…”

“Schmidt was kind too, at the start,” Erik said through gritted teeth.

Charles stared at him, his face almost grey, then turned his chair and wheeled jerkily out of the kitchen. Erik focused on his breakfast, and not on memories of kind smiles that promised pain.


	6. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles hasn't just triggered Dirk, he's gone and triggered himself too. Great. TW for a panic attack in this chapter!

Charles only stopped when he was safe in his room, breathing hard. He caught sight of his face in the mirror, gaunt and pale, and wanted to throw up, smash the glass, drown in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.

Just like mother, he thought, flinching away from the sight, from the memories. But better that than just like _father. _

He’d thought he was different. All those years he’d spent training young people to embrace their powers, push them further, control better, see what they could do. He’d told himself it wasn’t the same thing, these kids were excited, they _wanted_ to push their limits.

He’d wanted to as well. Wanted to please father, even when it hurt, when the drugs burned, split his fledgling defences down to dust, when he had to push further, deeper, until his head throbbed with the effort.

And if he got it wrong… 

He’d seen Svlad’s fears. A sad shaking of a kind face, making way for a grinning nightmare of a man. Good cop, bad cop. 

He wondered how many nightmares he featured in, to how many of his students he’d been the monster.

He turned everyone’s attention away from him, hiding in his room like a coward, but surely that was for the best. He wanted to do what was best for everyone, that’s all he’d ever wanted - to help people. But his judgement was obviously flawed. Every decision he’d made led to someone getting hurt. He could almost hear Raven rolling her eyes and calling him melodramatic, but it couldn’t be melodramatic if it was the truth, that if he was turning into his father, the children were surely better off without him.

When the door creaked open, the evening shadows were long across the floor, and Charles startled. He’d been so confident in his ability to hide he hadn’t even noticed his focus slipping, yet another instance of being too bloody arrogant. He reached out to the little figure hesitating just beyond the room, but his power slipped right past him. Charles panicked, pushing harder pushing _away._

“He’s not in here, Svlad,” said Erik, and Charles hunched further into his chair, wheeling back further into the corner. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Mr Charles,” Svlad said, walking forward anyway. The sunbeams fell on his thin, worried little face, tear tracks still clear on his cheeks, and Charles turned away in shame, his heart breaking for the little boy.

“Mr Charles, the Universe wants me to bring you this,” Svlad said, holding out a cardboard box, trembling with fear or strain.

Erik followed him in, his brow creased in sorrow for the boy. “Svlad, he’s not…”

Charles released his push on Erik, averting his eyes. He held out his hand for the box. “Sorry,” he murmured, fingers tapping awkwardly on the box.

Erik sighed and crossed his arms. “Have you been hiding in here all day?” he asked.

Charles ducked his head further.

Erik rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Great. OK, Svlad, where to next?” He glanced up at Charles, his eyes shuttered, not letting any emotion show, and that was no more than Charles deserved, really. “He’s been searching around this monstrosity of a house ever since I found him. Keeps saying the universe wants him to find something - that box, apparently. I don’t know how he even knew the entrance to the attic was hidden in that cupboard, but there we go.” He turned back to Svlad. “Would you like to… to find your friends? Or… something?” he asked awkwardly.

Svlad just blinked up at Charles, his thin fingers twisting together. “I… I really don’t know how to control it, Mr Charles,” he said, almost in a whisper. Charles looked up, catching traces of defeat and despair, hopelessness starting to seep through the strange wall against their powers that all these children seemed to have. “I don’t… nothing works. I’m sorry. I can’t _make_ it happen, I _swear_, I can’t--”

“Oh, Svlad, no, please. I’m so very sorry I made you feel threatened, it was never my intent. I only…” He took a deep breath and put the box down, reaching out for him, his hand hovering over his upper arm. “I thought you might be feeling left out. Like no-one cared for you. You’re always so quiet and hidden away, I just wanted to--”

“Please, Mr Charles, please, the box, please?” He lifted both fists up to his face, hiding behind hunched shoulders and spindly arms. 

Erik huffed and picked the box up, dumping it on Charles’ lap. “Open the damn box, Charles, give the child some relief.”

Charles swallowed hard and pushed the lid off the box. It fell by the side of his chair and he clenched and unclenched his fist, as if touching it had infected him with its memories.

“What does he need to do?” Erik asked Svlad.

Svlad bit his lip and shrugged. “I don’t know, sir, I really don’t, it doesn’t… it doesn’t--”

“--work that way,” Charles said softly.

“What?” Erik frowned.

Charles took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing. I, uh… Thank you for this, Svlad, it was very… kind of you to bring it to me.” He forced a smile and tried to push the box off his lap. He would burn it later.

“What’s in it?” Erik asked. 

He didn’t even sound interested. He wasn’t doing it to be cruel, Charles knew that for certain. He flinched anyway.

“Charles,” Erik said, drawing the name out. A warning? Charles wasn’t sure. The musty old-paper smell carried with it something else, something impossible, because the disinfectant couldn’t possibly have permeated the pages. The strong, sterile scent of the lab wasn’t something that could last for so long. He tried to breathe shallowly, take in less of the scent as he looked down at the papers. Touched the first file, opened it up.

“That was a good season,” he said, recalling his father’s voice, the way he’d heard it when he spoke to Kurt, the two men’s heads bent over this file while Charles sat silently and waited, hoped that he’d be able to go and nurse his migraine alone soon. “They made some major breakthroughs that year.”

He opened the file. Why were his hands shaking? He’d dealt with all of this stuff already, he’d processed it. He knew what they’d done to him was unacceptable. He knew he had a right to be angry with his father for treating him as a specimen, _an adorable lab rat_ and he had moved past it. He was the _better man_, now, he was… he was fine. Why were his hands shaking?

“Charles,” said Erik, sharper now, and Charles gasped, afraid, what would they do, they’d be angry if he failed them, but no, it was Erik, he was safe, he wouldn’t harm Charles, he wasn’t _them_ but he _was_ angry, and everyone had their limits, everyone was only a tantrum away from slapping Charles across the face, and... 

“Charles!” Erik said, leaning right over, holding his shoulders like he was about to shake him, but it felt like he was holding him through thick clothing, like his body was coated with a heavy cloud. He whimpered, and it was so pathetic it only made the panic worse, and suddenly he was gasping for air, unable to get enough into his lungs, his hands shaking and scrabbling and _all around him, for miles, people dropped to their knees, forcing air into their lungs and terrified when they couldn’t get it,_ his panic screaming, breaking through his barriers like it had when he was a child, spiralling out across the miles, all their panic echoing back to him and he was going to die, he was dying, he was dying--

Then there was a voice, and words he didn’t understand, but arms that meant safety and everything he could never have, would never deserve because he was a piece of shit a bad boy and not trying hard enough never working hard enough never good enough _no, Charles, listen to me, come closer, focus on my voice, focus on my thoughts alone. Here, I’ll keep you safe here, come into my mind, I’ll keep you safe, you’re safe now._


	7. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik talks Charles down from his panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in this chapter for a panic attack and references to child abuse.
> 
> Also this is one of my favourite chapters! I hope you enjoy it ^_^

Erik had barely a moment between realising that Charles was panicking, and being hit by the wave of panicked projection. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, trying, failing to get enough oxygen, he was going to die, he was--

“No,” said Erik firmly, pressing his fist into the plush carpet and twisting, grounding himself in the sensation. He pushed himself up, stumbled forwards, shoving the box of papers onto the ground and squeezing Charles’ biceps. “Charles! Charles, listen to me, you’re not dying, but you need to focus!”

Charles whimpered, and Erik’s heart ached. He couldn’t do this! He should get Raven, get someone, anyone, who was softer, who could give care to someone in this state. Svlad was crying, curled up on the floor, and Erik couldn’t help both of them - he probably couldn’t help either one. Erik would surely only make it worse. He was shattered glass and broken edges, people cut themselves on his presence and that’s how he liked it. He couldn’t even manage to keep from hurting those he cared about. He was not kind.

“OK, Charles, it’s OK, let me go get Raven, I’ll just--”

_Please please sorry sorry don’t deserve anything good just a piece of shit a bad boy never try hard enough why won’t you try harder just work harder you disappoint me Charles you pathetic piece of crap pathetic--_

Erik dropped to his knees, pressing closer, all thoughts of leaving him trampled. He cupped Charles’ face in both hands and rested his forehead against Charles’. “No, Charles, you’re not, you’re _not_, do you hear me? You’re the strongest man I know.”

_Fucking useless child won’t try hard enough I know he can reach further than this but we’ve plateaued disappointed no no I’m sorry I can do it I can be better--_

Erik closed his eyes and imagined pulling Charles into his mind. As sharp-edged and utilitarian a landscape as his mind probably was, he would at least have more control. He hoped. He had a sharp spike of panic, of _I have no idea what I’m doing_, but pushed it back ruthlessly. This was not the time for doubt. “Come on, Charles, come into my mind, look, I’m inviting you… you can… can hide here, if you want?”

_\--leave me he’ll leave again and they all leave and it’s only right I deserve that I deserve to be alone when I’ll only turn into them into a monster broken keep making the wrong choices--_

“No, Charles, listen to me,” Erik babbled, words pouring from his lips or from his mind, he wasn’t sure which. “Come closer, focus on my voice, focus on my thoughts alone. Here, I’ll keep you safe here, come into my mind. I’ll keep you safe. You’re safe now.”

There was a hush, and a popping sound, and dead silence. Erik sat on the bare floor and cradled Charles’ small body in his arms, resting on his lap. He rocked, and rocked, and Charles sobbed against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he poured out all his grief. Erik closed his eyes and kissed the soft brown hair, breathing in deeply in relief.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Charles whispered, wiping his face.

“Shh, none of that,” Erik said stiffly, but he still laid another kiss on him and stroked his back.

Charles hunched his back and hid his face in Erik’s shirt. “No, I’m so sorry. God, that was just pathetic, I’m…”

“You are not pathetic, Charles,” Erik clipped. “You were spiralling, caught up in memories. It happens.”

“Not to you.”

Erik hesitated. “Not anymore.” He stroked his hand down Charles’ back, fingers bumping over his vertebrae. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

“Tell you what?”

“That you had been treated that way. That you’d been tortured in the name of science, just like me. Like those children.”

Charles scoffed. “What they did to me was nothing, Erik. It’s pathetic that I can’t handle memories of a few rough words, and if you think that I would _dare_ to compare what I went through to your… your…”

“You are not pathetic,” he repeated sharply.

“I am,” said Charles, defiant and grieving at the same time. “I am pathetic. I can’t cope with these little hardships--” he paused and before them a memory appeared. Erik staring up at Xavier Manor, Charles at his side and the children behind them. _Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship._

“Charles, I--”

“Do you know what I thought then?” Charles asked, looking at the memory in front of them, at the two men they had been. “I wanted to argue, I wanted to say it had been hateful, and then I remembered that every single one of the people around me had suffered so much more than me, and I felt so guilty at my disgusting privilege. How pathetic - how dare I feel hurt at my memories, poor little rich boy, when my hardships were nothing - nothing at all. Next to yours they were the buzzing of a fly, and yet there you were. The strongest man I’d ever met.”

Erik gently turned Charles’ face away from the memory. “Do you think so poorly of me? Of all of us?”

“What? No, of course--”

“Do you think that just because I’ve been through something you judge to be worse, that I have no room in my heart for compassion for you?”

Charles ducked his head, and behind him Erik caught a glimpse of a different memory, of Erik staring Charles down in the plane to Paris and blaming him for their people’s death. Erik frowned and looked away. “I’m an idiot, Charles. You already know this.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said again, looking back up at the memory, playing on a loop. All the names of the dead. “I should have been stronger. I’ve always been so weak.”

“Bullshit,” Erik said sharply, and bit his tongue. This was why he should have called Raven. He took a deep breath and tried again, holding Charles’ gaze, even though it burned him, like it always did. The depth of his sincerity and hope. “You’re strong in ways I’ll never know, Charles. Strong enough to hold a group of foolish, traumatised children together and defeat a monster. Strong enough to keep trying, when the world kept wanting to push you down. Strong enough to get up every morning and face the day with kindness and faith and so much compassion it hurts to look at. And you are strong enough to deal with this, too.”

Charles’ eyes drifted shut, and suddenly he looked exhausted. “I wish I could stay here,” he said. “Where are we?”

Erik looked around, and laughed. “My mother’s kitchen,” he said. “I would sit under the table, out of the way while she cooked, play and listen to her sing.” He smiled out in wonder. “I’d forgotten about this place.”

“And you brought me here,” said Charles softly, looking up at Erik in wonder, and something else, memories appearing of chess matches by the fireside, legs stretched out in front of them, long nights and arguments. Charles blushed when he saw them projected there, and they faded to mist. 

“Are you ready to go back?” Erik asked. “I don’t know how long we’ve been gone, but I think you were projecting your panic attack to half of the state.”

“Oh God,” Charles said, eyes widening in horror. “Oh no, the children!”

They appeared back in the darkened room, Erik’s head spinning with the sudden change. “Svlad,” Charles called softly. “Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry about that, I really…” Charles sniffed suddenly and wiped his face. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

The little boy uncurled from the floor, peering up at him with wide, scared eyes. Erik held out a hand for him, and just like that, he stumbled forwards, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist and pressing his face into his chest, as Erik petted his back.

“Oh, sweetheart, you poor little thing, I’m so sorry. No, no, of course I’m not angry with you at all, I was afraid, and… and sad, but I didn’t want to make you feel like it was your fault.” He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. “God, I just keep… messing it up with you. I’m sorry, Svlad.”

“Dirk,” he said softly.

“Pardon?” said Charles, looking down.

“I… I prefer to be called Dirk Gently,” he said, shooting a look at Erik, then back up at Charles. “If you don’t…”

“Dirk,” said Charles, smiling and stroking his hair. “Of course. We’ll all call you that from now on.”

***

The sky was dark, now. All the children were in their beds, exhausted after the enforced panic attack. The rest of the household walked quietly around, avoiding each other’s eyes, awkward with Charles, and it all made Erik want to bash their heads together. None of this was helping in his campaign to stop Charles calling himself pathetic.

Charles looked up at him as they made their way back to the study after saying goodnight to Dirk. “Thank you, my friend,” he said softly.

Erik smirked at him. Because he’d never been able to do soft and compassionate and _nice_ in his life. “It made a bit of a change for me,” he said. “Saving you for once.”

Charles stopped, his mouth falling open. Erik took one, two more steps before he realised, and turned. “How can you not know?” Charles asked.

“Know what?” Erik said, retracing his steps, his hands still in his pockets.

“You saved me so many times, Erik,” he said, ocean blue eyes staring up at him in that way that he could never handle, the endless depths of hope and _something_. “All those times before Cuba, every time I thought I was making a terrible decision, when every step I took felt like the stupidest idea I’d ever had, you were right there next to me, and you believed in me with such conviction I could feel it in my _bones_.”

Erik frowned. “You doubted yourself? You, the cocky little brat of a professor, you doubted--”

“I doubt every word out of my own mouth,” Charles said, his lip curling in bitterness. “Did you really not know?”

“How could I?” Erik laughed softly. “I’m not the mind reader.”

“But I… I thought I was obvious. I thought everyone could see right through me, so many people did… their thoughts were always so… but you. You never stopped… you had so much faith in me. It was dizzying. I’ve never felt so strong as when you looked at me.”

Erik took one more step towards him, the moment hanging between them like crystal. He looked down at the watery blue eyes, the tears so quick to come still.

“You saved me so many times,” Charles said again, almost in a whisper.

Erik dropped to his knees in front of Charles, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’m looking at you now,” he said.

Charles took a shuddering breath. “I know,” he said. “It’s terrifying. And… and wonderful.”

Slowly, Erik closed the distance between them, his thumb brushing the tears away from Charles’ cheek, and kissed him.


	8. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik wake up tangled up in each other, but their peace is short-lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, fair warning, a lot of Erik's thinking here when it comes to Bart is incredibly unfair and hypocritical, but seeing her as he does here, and hearing of her affection for Mr Priest triggers the hell out of him. He will deal with this, please don't worry! All he wants is for the children to be safe, but things are going to be kinda horrible for him for a bit...
> 
> Trigger warnings for blood and some memories of the camps.

Charles woke with his head pillowed on warm skin, the steady thump of Erik’s heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and the murmur of his sleeping thoughts wrapping around him, an ocean of comfort. He wanted to stay in that limbo forever, that uncomplicated place where Erik was _here_, but nobody was questioning it. Least of all Erik.

Charles had known since he first laid eyes on Erik that he would take anything, anything Erik was willing to give him, and he wouldn’t ask for more. He couldn’t; the rest of the world would put enough pressure on them to pull apart, and if Charles pushed for any more, he would only push Erik away.

So instead he lay awake and committed every breath, every texture under his fingertips, every play of light on Erik’s skin to memory.

“You’re projecting, Charles,” said Erik, his voice rough with sleep.

“Sorry,” murmured Charles, shoring up his defences and resting his hand flat on Erik’s chest.

Erik rubbed his eyes and glanced towards the door, and Charles tried hard to hold his melancholy inside himself, stop it from seeping out around the edges of his mind. “You don’t have to be sorry,” said Erik, yawning. “I was just wondering what it was about this morning that had you so sad.”

“I’m not sad,” said Charles fiercely, because maybe if he said it enough, it would make it true. “How can I be sad, when I have you here by my side?”

Erik hesitated, then ran his fingers through Charles’ hair. Charles leaned into the touch, and Erik did it again, carding through, easing out the tangles and curling the long strands around his jaw, his fingers tracing down to Charles’ chin. Charles closed his eyes.

“What are we doing here?” Erik asked, his voice a whisper.

Charles sighed and pressed his face into Erik’s shoulder, hiding from the world as best as he could and breathing Erik in while he still had the chance. “Whatever you want, my friend,” he said.

“But what do _you_ want, Charles?”

“It doesn’t--”

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter,” Erik said, tugging his hair just a little. 

Charles tried not to freeze too obviously. He was so, so tempted just to dip into Erik’s mind, find out what he wanted to hear and give it to him, but that was cheating. People hated it - they wanted him to know what they wanted without _knowing_, and when it came to most people, he could get away with peeking.

But the people who mattered… the ones who’d been around long enough to matter, they’d all asked him to stay out. Even Hank, stuttering through the request and apologising, saying he didn’t want to worry that Charles was going to see all his dumb moments, his petty meanness, or worse, the porn he stashed under his bed. 

So the people who mattered the most, the ones he wanted to make happy more than anyone else, the ones he wanted to please, were the hardest to please. 

Erik rolled over onto his side, shifting their legs under the blankets so they lay facing each other, and tucked one finger under his chin. “When we leave this room, I need to know where I stand,” he said. “This… this whole thing… it’s a bad idea. It’s illegal, it’s… your friends, your sister, I don’t want to alienate them - I would completely understand if--”

“Erik,” Charles breathed, hope rising in him in warm waves. He searched the sharp, serious face, feeling like he was about to step of a precipice. “I will take every moment, every scrap you wish to give me. If this is all I get with you, I’ll have it stored in my heart forever, but if… if you still want--”

“I said I want you by my side,” Erik said, and there it was, that old ferocity all levelled at him like the sun. “I still… I will _always_ want that, Charles, don’t you see? I would take what little scraps _you_ see fit for _me_, anything you’re willing to give.”

Charles laughed breathlessly as Erik leaned over him, pressing kisses to his face, his lips, his neck. “Let’s feast on scraps, then, my friend,” he said, pulling him closer. “I want you with me, no matter what - I’ve wanted that so long.”

Erik pressed his face into Charles’ neck. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice muffled further by the way he was burying it. “God, I… I do.”

Charles clutched at him, holding him closer. “I love you too,” he said, his eyes welling up with hot tears, a smile stretching at his face, almost unbearably. He knew it wasn’t that simple - they still had very different views on the world, very different ways of working, and yet right now it didn’t matter - he couldn’t let it matter, because Erik was pressed close to him along the entire line of his body, clinging to him as if he’d never let him go, and Charles was clutching him back just as tightly, and maybe, perhaps, if they were lucky, this would be enough to tip the balance.

***

If Erik had been afraid of Hank and Raven’s reaction to the two of them leaving Charles’ room around ten in the morning (hours after Erik’s usual morning routine), he was to be disappointed. Raven simply held out her hand and Hank, with a roll of his eyes, slapped five dollars into it.

“He said you had more sense than to let Erik back into your bed,” she grinned. “I said you’ve never been sensible a day in your life, it’s all pretend.”

“What do you mean, _back_ in my bed?” Charles blinked.

“Oh, come on, Professor,” Hank shrugged. “We all knew chess was a euphemism.”

Erik and Charles shared glances. “No… we were actually playing chess,” Erik said.

“Not that I wasn’t trying,” Charles admitted.

“You were?”

“Wait, so you guys weren’t shacked up?” Raven gaped at Charles.

“You _didn’t_ notice I was flirting with you?” Charles gaped at Erik.

Erik shrugged. “I was somewhat preoccupied back then,” he mumbled into his coffee. And then, like a knock at the door, Charles heard _although if I’d realised my interest was returned I might have been less enthusiastic for early morning runs._

Charles stared at him, his eyes tearing up, as Erik’s tentative thought beckoned to him. Erik looked up at him, twitching a very tiny smile, and ducked his head back down over his cereal bowl. _Come on in, Charles_, he said, very clearly. 

Charles swallowed hard, cleared his throat and focused on toasting a couple of pieces of bread, all the while his mind was rushing into Erik’s, actually invited, settling into his thoughts like a warm embrace.

Erik huffed behind him. _It feels different_, he said, and Charles glanced over to see Hank and Raven peering suspiciously at Erik, who was smiling at nothing they could hear. _I thought having you in my mind would be like having memories brought up at random, or something._

_Only if that’s what I’m aiming for_, Charles replied silently. _I just… I just want to be near you._

Erik looked up at Charles, his eyes sad, and Charles felt his remorse swirling around their connection. Raven frowned, then suddenly her eyes widened, and she stared from one to the other. “C’mon, Hank,” she said sharply. “We gotta do that thing.”

“Huh? But I’m--”

“Now, come on, we’re late, we said we’d check on coma guy.”

“Dirk said he was called Francis, we should really--”

“Yeah, Francis, whatever, c’mon.”

Erik frowned after the two of them. “What was that?”

“I think Raven just recognised we were having a mental conversation,” Charles admitted, poking at his slightly burned toast. “She’d recognise them, she was the last person who let me in like that. When we were children.”

Erik looked down. “So… what, it bothers her?”

Charles wheeled himself next to Erik. “No… I think she just realised how serious this is.”

Erik glanced up at him. His face was hard, his jaw set and his eyes sharp as diamond. But across their connection, he could feel the uncertainty that Erik hid under an impenetrable shell, _is this OK, is this serious to you, is this too much, is this enough._

Charles slipped his fingers between Erik’s, and they turned back to their breakfast in silence, a glow curling between them from one mind to the other.

***

Things were going so beautifully. Of course that’s when it had to all go to shit.

Charles was reading to Cross, Dirk and Mona, while Erik explained the point of times tables to a surly Martin, and why it was expected that he learn them. Charles listened in with half an ear and tried not to smile too much when Erik told him the most important thing would be to learn the four times table so he would know exactly how much his groceries would cost when he had to look after the rest of the Rowdies.

When Raven’s wave of horror hit Charles, he dropped the book. Erik’s head snapped up when he felt it through their connection, wide eyes meeting Charles’, and both of them immediately turned to make for the entrance hall, Raven’s voice now starting to make its way up. 

“Raven, what’s going on?” Charles asked sharply, letting Erik levitate him down the stairs rather than taking the elevator.

Raven turned, and Charles saw Bart behind her, knife in hand, drenched head to toe in blood. “Dear God, Bart, are you OK? Don’t move, dear, it’s alright, we’ll fix you up in no time.”

“Oh, that’s OK Mr Charles, ain’t my blood,” she shrugged, holding up her arms. Something slipped off her sleeve and fell with a sickening splat to the floor.

The temperature in the room dropped. Charles was sure he could hear everyone’s heartbeat in the silence. “What do you… whose blood is it?” Charles asked carefully. But he didn’t need to. As he spoke, Bart’s barrier on their powers started to fade away, and Charles could see everything. The man turning in his office chair. The creepy smile when he saw the small girl in front of him. The way that smile turned to shock, and then to nothing, the knife, and all the blood.

Charles covered his mouth with one hand, his mind reeling. “What… Bart, why?”

Bart shrugged again. “I dunno, the Universe just wanted me to.” She cocked her head on one side. “Did you see it in my mind? Did I do well?”

Charles couldn’t answer, his mind spinning with shock and horror. Erik stumbled closer to her, bending down in front of her and levitating the knife away from her hand. She smiled up at it, and Charles felt tears make their way out of his eye as he saw her wondering little face, streaked with blood. “Why did you do this?” Erik asked. “Did he… was he Blackwing? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said, her curls bouncing as she shook her head. “No, I told you--”

“Then why? Why, Bart? You went out to find someone, you didn’t even know them… I don’t understand!”

Bart’s forehead crinkled up in confusion, and Charles, still sick, heard her confusion, _why aren’t you proud, didn’t I do well_, and he swallowed hard.

“You can’t just… just _kill_ people,” Erik said, his own distress vibrating along the connection, straight to Charles’ mind. “You… _why_, Bart?”

“I can kill, though,” she said, her voice rising high, so childish. “I kill really well, why aren’t you proud of me? I did real well, I did just what I’m s’posed to… Mr Priest always took me out for ice cream when I did well, why are you being so mean?”

Dirk froze up beside Charles, his hand clutching on Charles’ arm, and Martin and Cross hissed, fear and rage flaring up in Charles’ perception as the children thought of Mr Priest, all except for Bart, and oh, dear God, what had they done to Bart? What had they missed? Why had they not asked earlier?

“Listen to me,” Erik said sharply, holding Bart by the upper arms. “You are a child, not an assassin--”

“I _am_!” she yelled. “I’m a holistic assassin, I do what the Universe tells me!”

“No, Bart--”

“I hate you! I hate you all, I thought you were nice because you didn’t make us do tests, but you’re all stupid!” With one sharp movement she ripped away from Erik’s grasp and ran up the stairs.

Erik stayed on his knee, staring at his hands, blood from Bart’s clothes smeared across them, horror and a small, childish fear humming through their connection. “Erik,” Charles said, wheeling closer, reaching out a hand.

Erik stood suddenly, almost standing to attention, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “We have to send her away,” he said. “We can’t have her around the other children.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Charles said, his jaw dropping.

Raven looked between them. “Hey, kids, c’mon, let’s get you ready for lunch, OK?”

“Wait, Raven,” Erik said, and pointed at Martin. “Who’s this Mr Priest she was talking about? Did he make you all kill for him? Did he die in Blackwing?”

Martin glanced at Cross. “Uh, Priest’s… he’s the one who punished us if we did bad. He wasn’t there that day, when you came to get us.”

“He’s a monster,” said Dirk, his fingers clenching in Charles’ sleeve. “He’s… he made them...”

“He made them scare you,” Charles said softly. “Oh, boys… he gave them more outside time if they made Dirk cry.”

Martin and Cross nodded. “And we got to eat too,” Cross added.

Erik nodded, once, sharply, and Charles could hear the crawling horror in his mind. “And he… liked Bart?”

Dirk nodded.

“Right. She needs to go. She can’t be around you.”

“Erik, you can’t be serious,” Charles said, as the older boys exchanged nervous glances, and Dirk put his hands over his face. Raven walked quickly over to him and bent down in front of him, anger and confusion prickling off her.

“Of course I am! She’s obviously been warped by this Priest man, she’s dangerous - what if she decides we’re too far away from other people and turns this… this bloodlust on the others? What if she kills Mona? Vogel?”

Mona shifted out of her jacket form. “Oh, don’t worry, she can’t kill us, we’re holistic too,” she said cheerfully.

“Erik, we are not sending anyone away,” Charles said, setting his jaw.

“Kids, I mean it,” Raven said, standing up again with Dirk’s hand in hers. Her scales were almost vibrating with tension. “Let’s go, you don’t need to be here for this.”

“We must!” Erik snapped, his eyes fixed on Charles as Raven hustled the children out. “Look how she behaved, she expects us to be proud of her for killing someone for no reason, she expects praise for this… this psychopathy! She’s been taught to harm others for their entertainment, and she’s internalised it! She can’t be allowed to be around the others, it’s not safe, Charles, don’t you see? She’ll hurt them!”

And then it became clear. The memories swirling around Erik’s mind like a whirlpool coalesced into scene after scene, the camps, the guards and their brutality, and the favoured prisoners. The way the SS could stand back and watch victim turning on victim. The men with both the _Judenstern_ on their chest and the white band on their arm, taught to side with their abusers, kill their own people in exchange for a little bit more food and a little bit less beating.

“No,” Charles said, as firm as he could over the top of this well of rage he held just for Erik and for all he’d been through. “No, we won’t let that happen. Never.”

“Get out of my head, Charles,” Erik snapped, and it felt like an elastic band recoiling in his face as Charles’ mental connection to Erik broke once more.

He should have known. Should have realised it was only temporary - wasn’t it always? He’d been a fool to think this was a long-term permission. He turned, his wheels suddenly very heavy.

“Charles--” Erik said behind him.

“We need to talk to the children,” Charles said, and was proud at how steady his voice was. “We need to find out more about this holistic, universe _thing_. Should have done it much sooner, really - never mind.”

“Charles, I’m--”

“We are not sending Bart away,” said Charles firmly, glaring up at Erik. “We aren’t. We’ll integrate her.”

Erik closed his eyes. “You can’t fix everyone, Charles.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said. “But that’s no reason to give up.” _Not on Bart, and not on you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid the next couple of chapters are going to be rough!! I'm sorry! I promise there's a happy ending after all this!


	9. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Erik's turn to have a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day I'm afraid. TW for panic attacks, and memories of things that happened in the camps. Yes, I made myself cry researching.

Erik clenched his fists at his side, then grimaced as the blood slicked over the pads of his fingers. He swallowed hard, pushed the memories back, far back where they belonged, where they weren’t going to hurt anyone else. 

He saw Charles’ face when he’d told him to get out, felt the hurt over the connection just seconds before it broke and he was left in his usual silence, and gritted his teeth hard enough that they ached. He didn’t want to hurt him, but better to hurt with his words than with the memories, sharp and vicious. He couldn’t imagine how Charles would hurt to see some of the things in Erik’s past, some of the things Erik had done. Some of the things that had been done to him.

And Bart… well, he’d always known Bart was like him. He just didn’t know how much like him. Not fit to be around others. A danger, a broken edge for kind hearts to cut themselves on. He washed the blood from his hands and wondered how often she’d had to do the same. How old she’d been before she stopped seeing the horror in the taking of a life. 

How hellish her life must have been to have lost that last piece of her soul so young.

He marched back, vague plans of talking to Raven, working out a plan, somewhere safe for Bart to go where she wouldn’t be a danger to the others. If necessary he’d take her away himself. He swallowed down the lump that appeared in his throat at the thought of leaving again, but if it was for the best… if it was to keep them all safe…

“We don’t know how it works,” he heard, and paused in the corridor. Gripps’ voice filtered through the door and Erik pushed it gently, peering in. “We just hear what we have to do and we do it,” the boy continued.

“You all hear the same instruction?” Charles asked. He sat surrounded by children, and Erik’s heart ached to see him so in his element, gentle and understanding and _learning._

Mona shook her head. “Usually it’s all different things. I can be whatever I want until I have to be one thing.”

“And it just… happens? You can’t control it?”

“We can fight it,” Dirk said softly, staring down at his hands where he’d pulled his sweater over the palms. “But… it hurts. It gets bigger and bigger and then it just… it happens anyway.”

“We don’t get it much,” said Martin. “They kept us all wrapped up most’a the time.”

Charles frowned, tapping his lips. “So what you’re saying is that Bart doesn’t want to kill people?”

“Oh, no, I think she’s quite happy to do it,” Mona said quickly. “She doesn’t mind at all, don’t worry about that.”

“But… she has to? The… Universe tells her who to kill, and when?” Charles pressed.

“Rather leading the witnesses, aren’t you, Charles?” Erik said, leaning against the door jamb.

Charles turned, an automatic smile on his face, and it ached, the way he looked at him. Like he was a good person even after he’d hurt him again and again. “Just trying to find an explanation that fits with all the evidence, your honour,” Charles said.

Erik didn’t smile back, his gaze dropping to the floor. Charles was quiet for a moment, then clapped his hands. “Right, children, I think you should go to play, don’t you think? Give me and Erik a moment?”

The kids scrambled out, mumbling goodbyes and squeezing past Erik, footsteps clattering down the stairs. Erik looked up at Charles as he wheeled closer. “You can’t assume everyone has your morals, Charles,” Erik said.

“And you can’t assume everyone is irredeemable,” Charles said, cocking his head on one side.

“I don’t,” he said, then huffed and crossed his arms. “I just… I don’t want…”

Charles simply sat and watched him with that damnable compassion on his face, and Erik wanted to leave it, wanted to roll his eyes at his naivete, and give up on him, but this was Charles. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he blurted. “Any of you. And Bart… Bart’s like me. She hurts.”

“Oh, Erik…”

“No, Charles, it’s like…” He pinched his nose and tried to find the words. “It’s like being in my mind… there’s too much there, too much that’s broken already. It can’t be fixed.”

“Erik,” Charles said sharply, and Erik looked up. Charles glared at him, the compassion side by side with frustration. “Do you understand how powerful I am?”

Erik frowned.

“Do you know that I am without a doubt the most powerful telepath in the world right now? It’s not arrogance, I have checked - with Cerebro. There are others, but none of them have my range and power. Maybe they will, with training, but… my point is that your memories can’t actually hurt me.”

“Not like that,” Erik said, rolling his eyes. “But they can… look, I’ve seen you cry to see my mother light the hanukkiah, I can’t imagine--”

“I don’t cry because it hurts _me_,” snapped Charles. “I cry because it hurts you, because I want you never to have experienced such loss. Please, darling… don’t think that you have to protect me from your pain?”

Erik swallowed. Swallowed again, hard. It wasn’t working. He looked down. “I don’t want to cause you any grief at all… I don’t want to see you cry.”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m afraid I am a bit of a wimp. I cry. It doesn’t mean that I can’t handle it, though.” He moved closer and stroked the back of Erik’s hand, linking their fingers together when Erik let him. “All I want is to see you loved and cared for - the children as well, but I seem to have a special interest in your wellbeing.” He smiled up at Erik, blue eyes twinkling like a calm sea. “I love you, and that means all you’ve done, and all that has been done to you, I accept. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide it from me.”

Erik gritted his teeth and turned his face away, staring at the pattern on the carpet until it blurred. “Oh, love, please come down here,” Charles said, tugging his hand. Erik knelt at his feet, pressed his face into Charles’ lap and cried, clinging to Charles’ shirt and opening his mind to Charles once more.

***

They made their way slowly to the kitchen for their own lunch, Erik’s face newly washed, his mask back in place. Charles’ quiet happiness and affection hummed across their connection, and he smiled up at Erik every so often, like he couldn’t believe his good luck. It made something in Erik’s soul mend, and yet terrified him as well.

They were passing the main door when Dirk walked past, almost stumbled, his eyes wide and haunted. “Dirk?” Charles asked, and frowned. “Dirk, where are you - Erik, I can’t reach him.” He pressed his fingers to his temple and tried to turn both wheels at the same time. “Dirk, wait!”

Erik quickly ran down the stairs after Dirk, just as Bart hurled herself out of the door, thumping into Erik and racing past. “He’s here! He’s here! Mr Priest, hey!”

One by one the children appeared, a trickle and then a flood out of the door, followed by Raven and Hank. “Get back!” Erik shouted, everything else almost inaudible over the thundering of his heart as he saw the man in black military gear swagger up the drive. “Get them back in the house!” He raced forwards, snatching Dirk up under one arm. “Bart! Get back here now!”

Dirk squirmed in his arms, little whimpers escaping as he tried to burrow into Erik’s shoulder and escape at the same time. Erik raced back to Charles, dumping Dirk in his lap even as he pushed himself onwards. “Take him back in, Charles. Bart! Come back here!”

He ran towards her, but it was too late. She reached the man, who swooped down and scooped her up, and Erik saw spots of light in his vision, because what had he done? He’d driven her away, this wasn’t what he’d wanted, oh God, it wasn’t! “Bart!” he screamed. “Put her down!”

“It’s OK, Mr Erik,” Bart called, waving at him. “I can go back with Mr Priest now, you don’t have to worry ‘bout me any more.”

“No, please… I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, please don’t--”

“Listen to her, Mr Erik,” the man called, and he chuckled, high and insane. “She wants to come home with me, don’t you, Bartine?”

Bart nodded. “See ya later.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Charles called, drawing level with Erik. Dirk was now squirming in Hank’s arms, and Hank and Raven had the three eldest Rowdies between them. Erik wanted to look around for little Vogel, but the man was giggling again.

“You got trouble whether you like it or not, don’t ya? My boys and me are here for the projects.” He gestured, and two trucks roared up behind him. Men jumped down, rifles raised and pointed at the group, and Erik vibrated in fury, senses already reaching out for all the metal in the area.

_Wait_, Charles sent over their link. _Not until Bart’s safe_. He rolled forwards. “We can’t let you take any of the children, I’m afraid,” he called, still so polite. “And Bart, I’m sorry we didn’t understand earlier. We want to try again - will you come back, please?”

Bart frowned and looked over at the group, at Dirk whimpering and squirming in Hank’s arms, at the Rowdies all growling under their breath, and a little shape in the grass at Raven’s feet flickering between forms. “I dunno,” she said slowly.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Priest said, his arm tightening around Bart. “You may’ve trashed up our place, but Blackwing’s still alive and kicking as long as I’m around, and I’m taking all the projects.”

“You are not.”

“And a cripple’s gonna stop me?” Priest laughed. 

“Mr Priest, don’t be mean to Mr Charles,” Bart frowned, but Erik was already reacting, tugging every weapon from the black-clad men, melting it into a great floating ball above him as the soldiers cried out in fear. The Rowdies whooped, and Charles touched his fingers to his temples, freezing the men in place.

“Yes,” said Charles. “We are going to stop you.”

And then Priest moved anyway, a gun in his hand that Erik couldn’t feel. He was pointing it at Charles and Erik was thirteen years old and powerless again, unable to sense the bullet, unable to stop it as the shot rang out. All the metal he’d been holding fell to the ground and Erik cried out, hands reaching forward in panic, trying to catch the bullet but it just wasn’t there, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he was going to fail. 

Charles threw himself to one side, his chair falling and tipping him out, one wheel spinning slowly, and Erik was still trapped in the past, because the guard was tearing the canes and devices away from the disabled men, throwing them to the floor, he was telling them if they could crawl across without their aids he would let them live and Charles was crawling, holding himself up on his elbows and Erik knew, he knew it was hopeless, he knew before the guns were raised that the guards were going to shoot him anyway, shoot all of them and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe--

_Erik! Erik, love, come back, please--_

There was a roaring in his ears, and he couldn’t tell how old he was, what year it was, where he was, if the sound was his own heart breaking or Hank yelling or whether the small, furious shape throwing itself at the man in black was a child of one of the murdered men or if it was Vogel, if Charles was lying there dead or if he was screaming, his hand outstretched and calling Bart and Vogel’s name, if the pieces of shrapnel flying around them were from the trucks the men had brought or if they were the barbed wire fences bending towards him, if there was blood from the soldiers or blood from the camps, whose arms those were around him, whose name it was, who kept saying in his mind _I’m sorry, Erik, I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me._

And then black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be a happy ending! I promise!!


	10. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get Charles and Erik working together and nothing, not even the Universe, can stand against them...

Charles sat at Erik’s bedside, his eyes raw and aching with tears scrubbed away. Erik was sleeping naturally, now - Charles’ invasion of his mind had been the work of moments, and he’d left as soon as it was done. 

As Erik moved, stretched, Charles wanted nothing more than to dive back into his mind - preferably dive back into his arms as well, give and receive comfort in every way he knew how. But he had sent Erik to sleep, taken over his mental faculties without permission, and this could be the final straw.

Erik blinked blearily at him. “Charles? What--” And then he breathed in sharply and looked away, and Charles could tell from the horror that leaked through his mental shielding that Erik was remembering.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands clasped together over his lips. “I’m so sorry, Erik, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Erik’s hand, long, warm fingers rough with violence, wrapped around his own. “You put me to sleep?”

Charles nodded, tears welling up again.

“And you thought I would be angry? Oh, Charles… how I would have hated myself if I’d caused more pain to anyone.” He pulled him closer and Charles made an animal noise that he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by. Erik wrapped his arms around him and their minds sank into each other, grief and fear and panic still painting the walls of their mental landscape.

Erik took a deep, shaky breath, and Charles could feel him trying to repair the rigid defences he had against his own horrific memories, trying to control thoughts as slippery and uncooperative as blood into boxes buried deep beneath pragmatism and vengeance.

Charles stroked Erik’s cheek. _Will you let me help?_

“What do you mean?” Erik asked out loud, his mind startling and dropping the memories once more, where they seeped out and coloured his thoughts.

“I mean… I can help you to coax them back again, if you like? The memories.”

Erik closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Did you see everything?”

“Oh, love… I’m so sorry. I wish none of this had happened to you.”

Erik turned his face and Charles put gentle pressure on his cheek, trying to call his gaze back. “Please, Erik, don’t… you don’t have to hide from me.”

Erik touched his shoulder, his thumb stroking circles into the wool of his cardigan, but his face still turned rigidly away, and shame, disgust, horror swirled around their connection. Charles gritted his teeth and appeared in Erik’s mind, seeking him out and planting himself right in front of Erik, even as he covered his face.

“Do you know what I see when I see these memories, Erik?” he asked, his fists clenching. “I see… the worst of humanity.” He looked around at the visions that swirled, muted but still _there_, still hurting Erik. “I see the worst that we have ever been,” he said, tears trembling at the edges of his eyes. “And I see some of the best, because I see you there. You, and the others. The survivors that gritted your teeth and held on through that horror because giving up was never an option. This… this impossible strength you seem to have--”

“Spite,” said Erik, an almost-laugh shaking his shoulders.

Charles smiled ever so slightly. “Then thank God for spite. You are so incredibly strong, my friend. You give me hope.”

Erik startled, staring up at Charles. Charles laughed. “You didn’t know? You always have. You are… a bright point in history, a galaxy of light, burning away what they tried to make you. They tried to make you nothing, they tried to make you less than animal and you… you are so much more.”

Erik held Charles’ gaze for a moment, exhausted, pained. He looked around at the litany of nightmares painting the walls of his mind, then quietly took out the first of his mental boxes. Charles wiped his face (God, even in the mind, he was so quick to cry), and pulled one of the memories out from the rest, wrapping it neat, keeping it under control. Not buried, never gone. But put to one side, so that Erik could keep moving forward. 

When they rose from Erik’s mind, their heads bowed together, the day felt cooler. Muted and faded with exhaustion, but no longer something that cut at them.

“They took Bart, didn’t they?” Erik asked, his voice rough. He swallowed, and Charles heard it.

“Yes… and Vogel and Martin too. Vogel came out of nowhere, threw himself at them and started trying to… trying to hit one of the men with his bare fists. Martin just… ran after him. Cross and Gripps would have too, if they hadn’t been held back by…” By the maelstrom of metal and terror. Charles wasn’t sure if Erik would feel glad of that, or guilty.

“It’s my fault,” Erik said, and Charles’ jaw dropped. “No, it is, Charles - if I hadn’t threatened to take her away, she wouldn’t have gone to him.”

“Oh, darling, you can’t know that. They all say she was his favourite, she might well have--”

“We have to get her back,” he said, red-rimmed eyes fixed and fierce on Charles.

“Well, of course we do,” he said, blinking.

Erik stared, and for a moment there was silence over their connection, and then confusion, disorientation, _really? You know you’re agreeing to violence._

Charles rolled his eyes. “Erik, they are children. Men in tactical gear with _guns_ stole our children. Of course we’re going to get them back.”

“And if I kill them?” Erik asked, his eyes boring into Charles’.

Charles clenched his jaw. “Obviously, I would prefer we do it with as little bloodshed as possible, I don’t want us to just go in there and… and massacre them, but we’re not leaving Bart, Martin and Vogel to be _tortured_ by some shadowy government agency, honestly, Erik, what do you think of me?”

Erik smiled at him, soft and wondering, and Charles felt, rather than heard, the wave of pure love that crashed over him.

***

Charles wheeled into the living room with Erik close behind, their minds both focused on strategy, chasing each other wordlessly down lines of contingency and possibility. A part of Charles’ mind stared in awe at the team they made, playing chess on the same side.

Hank sat with Dirk on his lap, snuggled up tight with his face pressed into the blue fur and teddy bear Mona in his arms. Raven paced, and Cross and Gripps sat in eerie stillness, as though missing a part of themselves. Everyone turned as Erik and Charles entered, Dirk peering out at them with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

Charles smiled gently at them. “I know it seems… bad, right now. But we’re going to get them back.”

“We need to know everything you can tell us about Blackwing,” Erik said, his hands linked behind his back, a general at parade rest. “Anything you can think of that might help us find where they’ve taken Bart, Vogel and Martin, any little piece of information could be useful. Even if you don’t think it’s relevant now.”

“If I could search your memories, I would really appreciate it,” Charles said, looking from one child to the other, holding their gaze. “You can absolutely say no, this is up to you, but…”

There was silence. Cross and Gripps glanced at each other and shrugged, almost apathetic.

“What about Francis?” Dirk asked, looking up at Hank, and then at Charles. “He’s older than us, could you read his memories? He might know more.”

Charles and Erik glanced at each other, surprised. If Charles was honest, he’d forgotten all about their final, silent fugitive. “Is this another of your hunches?” He asked.

Dirk shook his head, frowning. “When Mr Priest came it was… overwhelming. I didn’t want to but my legs were carrying me over to him, and then Mr Erik picked me up and I wanted to… I wanted to hang on to him, but I _had_ to… I had to fight him.” Tears escaped and rolled down his cheeks, and Charles wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold the little boy, promise he never had to feel like that again, but it would be a lie. Dirk sniffed and rubbed his face. “Now, the hunch is still telling me… and… and bad things happen when I ignore it but I think bad things will happen if I go back to Mr Priest and I don’t want to… I want to stay here but it _hurts_ sometimes.”

He pressed his face back into Hank’s chest and his shoulders shook. Charles bit his lip and looked up at Erik, trying to project comfort and calm to Dirk, but with his powers still actively working, a hunch still in progress, Charles’ telepathy couldn’t get through.

“If we go to Francis, maybe we can talk to the nice snail again,” said Mona, popping into her human form and patting Dirk.

All the adults looked at each other. 

“The snail told me she can send people to see the Universe!”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“Why would anyone want to see the Universe, though?” Dirk said, rather petulantly. “All the Universe ever does to me is send me into trouble.”

“Wait,” frowned Charles. “Are you saying the universe is a person? Not just a set of vague feelings?”

“Wakti says he’s been looking like a person recently,” Mona said. “Maybe she’s closer so she can see him better. Ooh, maybe he’s a shapeshifter like me!”

Charles and Erik looked at each other, tentative futures unfolding, even while Charles tried not to get his hopes up too high. “It’s worth a try,” he murmured.

“We don’t have any other leads,” shrugged Erik.

“What, you’re really going to try and find a snail to take you to the universe?” Raven said, holding her hands out to the side, exasperated.

“No, we’re going to see if we can find any information in Francis’ memories. Whether that leads to a location where they might have taken the children, or whether that leads to a snail and the anthropomorphic representation of the universe, well, we’ll take what we can get,” Charles said.

“You know this is insane, right?” she snapped.

“Well, you’re covered in blue scales which seem to have some sort of morphological plasticity that even with two geniuses and a PhD in genetics we haven’t been able to figure out, so let’s not cast aspersions on a snail with a fast track to the universe, shall we?”

There was silence for a moment. Then, “Did you really just make a pun about a snail having a fast track to anything, Charles?” Erik asked casually.

***

Hank bustled around Francis, using claw tips to delicately lift up wires and tubes, checking his vitals as Charles rolled himself closer to Frances’ head, and Erik lowered the bed to Charles’ height. Raven stood to one side with Dirk slumped in her arms, his head pressed to her neck and eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“No change,” Hank said, and sighed. “His brainwaves don’t seem to leave REM sleep, it’s no wonder we had to increase his glucose levels in the drip, he’s burning energy at an unprecedented level for a coma patient.” He gestured at Charles. “Go ahead.”

Hank took a step back, one huge paw landing on Cross’ shoulder. The boy leaned into the contact, and Gripps took Cross’ hand. Charles’ heart ached to see how hollowed out the boys were without their friends. Erik squeezed his shoulder, and he smiled up at him briefly, grateful for the contact. For the comfort.

He lifted his fingers to his temple with his right hand, and with his left, reached for Francis’ arm. He was expecting the usual mental boundaries, maybe with some interesting variations on the norm, like all of the Blackwing children. He was not expecting to be turned inside out, to be pulled into the mind and pushed out at the same time, hurled out into a riot of sound and colour, an entire new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Wendimoor!


	11. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik arrive in Wendimoor

Erik curled over as he fell, bracing his arms around his ears as the trees rushed up to meet them. Panic roared in his ears as branches smashed around him and tore at his skin until he hit the ground with a grunt.

“Charles!” he shouted, shoving himself to his feet. 

“Here,” Charles groaned, rolling onto his back and wincing. Erik dropped next to him and started running his hands up Charles’ legs, checking for breaks. “Stop fussing, Erik,” Charles sighed.

Erik rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Charles, we both need to know if you’re injured.”

Charles shrugged in agreement, pushing himself up to sit against the tree trunk that had so thoughtfully broken his fall. “Ugh. I think my legs are fine. My ribs took the brunt of the action.”

Erik quirked a half-smile at him and went back to checking his legs. Suddenly Charles tensed, putting his fingers to his temple. “Someone’s coming.”

“Can you make us disappear?”

He frowned. “They might be able to take us to this… personification of the universe.”

“Or the magical talking snail?” Erik snarked. “Just look, Charles - surely you can tell if they know either of these people.”

Charles frowned at him, and a frisson of hurt ran through their connection before it cut off suddenly. “You do realise that I don’t just go diving into everyone’s minds like that.”

Erik looked at him flatly. Charles rolled his eyes and put his fingers back to his temple. His eyes widened. “They, uh… yes, they know her.” He glanced back at Erik. “I’m not sure I’d describe her as a snail, though. Not from what I saw.”

Erik raised his eyebrows, but focused on finding Charles’ wheelchair and straightening out all the dents. He lowered it next to Charles. “Would you mind if I lift you in?”

Charles rubbed his ribs with a wince. “Yes, I think that would probably be sensible.” He looped an arm around Erik’s shoulders as he helped him up, then took a deep breath. “Here they come.”

Erik turned, one hand on Charles’ chair. He could feel the metal approaching, large chunks of it in curious shapes, but even that couldn’t prepare him for the weapons the two women carried, or their strange clothes. One, a slight girl with short, pink hair and a cowboy hat, wore a giant pair of scissors as a sword, and the other, a tall black girl with long dreadlocks, had an enormous, cartoonish claw-hammer slung over her shoulder.

“Who goes there?” demanded the hammer-girl, stepping in front of the smaller one.

Charles raised his hands. Erik reluctantly followed suit. “We mean no harm,” Charles said, in that calm diplomat’s voice of his. “We’re looking for Wakti Wapnasi?”

The small girl’s eyes widened and she put her hand on her companion’s shoulder. “How do you know that name?” she demanded. Erik wondered if she was even eighteen yet.

Charles glanced up at Erik. _I don’t know why you think I’ll be any help here_, Erik muttered in his mind.

Charles gave him the mental impression of a flat look, then turned back to the girls. “It’s rather a strange situation… it might be faster if I showed you?”

“What do you mean?” the smaller girl asked, taking a step forward.

“Stay back, my lady,” said hammer-girl. “It may be one of the Mage’s traps.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Charles said. “I can send you all the information straight into your mind. You can see what I’ve seen.”

The girls glanced at each other, then warily back at Charles. When they made no move to refuse, he closed his eyes. Erik heard, in his own mind, the rustle of memories Charles sent to them; the children, their powers, Priest’s attack, and Francis, lying still with an entire world in his mind. He saw the girls gasp and stumble backwards, clutching at each other.

_Show off_, Erik teased.

“How can this be?” said the smaller girl.

“They must be in league with the Mage!” Hammer-girl pointed her weapon at Charles. With a gesture, Erik pulled it out of her hands, melting it into a pool at their feet.

_Now who’s the show off?_ Charles said, but he wheeled forward. “I assure you, we don’t know any mage. We certainly aren’t working with one. We just want to find Wakti Wapnasi - I know you know her name.”

“How can you--”

“Because I heard her name in your mind,” he said, tapping the side of his head.

“We just want to bring the children home,” Erik said. “She’s our only hope right now, and we don’t even know if she can help us.”

The two girls looked at each other again, a silent conversation happening between them just as surely as it would between Charles and Erik. At last the taller girl stepped back, and the small one walked forward warily. “I am Litzibitz Trost, Princess of the Valley of Inglenook, and this is Bigby Badoo, my loyal lady-in-waiting. My brother, the Lord Prince Panto, has been working with Wakti Wapnasi for many years in secret. They seek to find a way to reveal the Prophecy of Prophecies, that which will restore the Empty Throne and return The Boy to us.” She looked between them both, her large eyes fierce with intensity. “I only tell you this because I cannot let a child remain in such danger - but this is of the utmost import, and must remain a secret - if you betray us, you will doom the whole of Wendimoor.”

“Wendimoor?” Erik asked in an aside to Charles.

“This world of theirs,” Charles murmured, but wheeled himself closer and clasped Litzibitz’s hand in both of his. “I swear to you, we’ll keep your secret. We have no wish to disturb your brother or Wakti’s work, and if we can help in any way, we will. Will you take us to her?”

Litzibitz looked up at Bigby once more. Her lady inclined her head just a little, and Litzibitz turned back with a wide, sweet smile. “Follow us.”

***

The way through the forest was slow going at first, with Charles’ chair hardly designed to pick its way through the undergrowth. Erik kept quiet and walked beside him as he swore under his breath, muscles straining as he forced it over roots that ground out on his footplates. As it tipped sideways, nearly dumping him on the ground, he swore viciously and thumped a nearby tree. Erik bit his lip and looked away, shielding his guilt and frustration behind a steel plate in his mind.

Litzibitz and Bigby turned back, heads tilted on one side. “Yes, I know, I’m slowing you down,” Charles hissed, more acid than Erik had heard him in a long time. “It’s not entirely by choice.”

“Does your chair not have feet to extend for rough terrain?” Bigby asked, poking at the wheels. “They should retract just here - hmm, why are they missing?”

Charles glanced up at Erik, then back at Bigby. “You have wheelchairs with feet here?”

Litzibitz nodded. “The Bofuki Nepoo are great inventors, and it is not just chairs with footed wheels, but cycles and infant carriages as well. Anything that may need to wheel on flat ground, and climb on rough.”

Charles bit his lip. “I’ll have to talk to Hank about something like that.”

“Or you can talk to me,” said Erik mildly. “Bigby, would you mind showing Charles an image of these extendable feet in your mind? Then Charles can pass it on to me, and I’ll make some modifications.”

Charles looked up at him with that old, wondering expression that always used to make Erik turn away from him, unable to look straight into the sun. He looked away now, too, holding down, but savouring, that leap in his heart. 

“Thank you,” Charles said softly, a gentle smile warming Erik from the inside out as he added the strange, pointed extensions around Charles’ axles, drawing some metal out of the handles and arm rests.

Erik patted the push rim and stood, clearing his throat. “Let’s get going then.”

Charles moved forward, the spikes digging into the roots and soil as he pushed, and his smile turned to one of triumph as he made his way over the rough ground. “Perfect,” he grinned.

It still wasn’t easy, and by the time they made it through the woods into the little village, Charles was breathing hard. So was Erik, though. “I’ve grown lazy in your comfortable little school, Charles,” he muttered.

“You and me both, my friend.”

Charles’ wheel spikes retracted on the flat ground, they followed Litzibitz and Bigby to a large, low-roofed hut in the centre of the village as small, fur-clad people with multicoloured, streaked skin appeared to peer at them, heads turning this way and that strangely. 

“So, you are the ones who disturb my prophecy,” said a low, gravelly voice, and Erik stopped dead in the path.

_Erik, don’t be rude,_ said Charles’ voice in his head.

_How in anyone’s mind is that a snail?_ Erik demanded, and he wasn’t too proud to admit that there was just the slightest bit of hysteria creeping into his voice. Because that was not a person, and it sure as hell wasn’t a snail. She was almost entirely covered in thick purple cloth, a huge, misshapen tricorn hat on her head, but her face was plated with strange, wood-like bones.

He swallowed hard, resisted the urge to shake his head and wonder at his life’s choices, and followed the man he would follow to the end of the world.

“Wakti Wapnasi?” Charles asked, holding out a hand.

The definitely-not-a-snail took his hand in her… appendages. She didn’t seem to have hands, more like flexible pincers with fingers. “That’s me,” she said, something gleefully cheerful under the gravel of her voice. “And you are the one who stole The Boy,” she said, turning her gaze on Erik.

“I’m… what?”

“The Boy who will save us all. The Boy of prophecy. A prophecy, I might add, that I almost had pinned down, before you came along and started to make things interesting.”

“I’m… terribly sorry,” said Charles, glancing at Erik.

Wakti laughed merrily. Erik wasn’t sure if he liked the noise at all. “Do not be sorry. I am eager to see how things change. Now, you want to talk to the Universe?”

“We want to get the children back,” Erik said. “And if that means talking to the Universe itself, then yes. Please.”

“Well, then,” Wakti said, and the bones or wooden structures on her face bent as she smiled. “You had best come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what some all-terrain wheelchairs look like, I did a bit of research before I wrote this chapter... but I also think Wendimoor would TOTALLY do a thing like that differently!


	12. Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with the Universe...

Charles rolled into Wakti’s hut, perfectly shaped for someone of their height. Erik, on the other hand, had to bend almost double as he followed them in, and curled onto the cushions Wakti gestured to on the floor. 

The inside of the hut was warm and thick with incense smoke. A great pool of water at Charles’ seat-height took up almost half of the space, and he peered into the water.

“Not so fast, Professor,” Wakti said, wagging one finger. “You’ll get to that soon enough.”

He straightened up quickly and turned to her with an apologetic smile.

“Is there anything you can tell us about where they’ve taken Bart, Vogel and Martin?” Erik asked, and Charles could feel his impatience, almost completely masked from his voice, but humming through their mental link like shots of green thread.

“Did you know,” said Wakti, ignoring him. “That this world has existed for only twenty years?” She smiled and cupped a small bowl of powder in one of her strange pincer-hands. “And yet I feel sure I have lived for hundreds. How can that be?”

Charles glanced at Erik, sending soothing waves across their bond, although he, too, was feeling impatient.

“I can see them, you know,” she said, peering at Erik slyly. “I can even talk to those who know to listen.”

“Mona,” murmured Charles.

“Ah, the little shapeshifter, yes. But I’m not the only one.”

“What do you mean?” Erik said, leaning forwards.

“You know. Trust yourself, you know.”

“The Universe?” Erik asked, glancing at Charles.

Wakti smiled and blew the powder over the water, where it bubbled violently. Charles shifted backwards out of the way, wondering exactly what she’d added. If it had even been water at all.

“He watches them too. He didn’t used to. He didn’t used to have eyes. Now he has a body, he has a tongue and a voice, but he doesn’t speak to them. Just makes them do what he wants, tools to fix a broken universe.”

“People tend to look after their tools,” Charles said, teeth clenched.

“Indeed, indeed. So they should.” She gestured at her table, covered in shining knives, a solid mortar and pestle, and jars of herbs and roots all labelled meticulously.

“If you don’t approve of him, why haven’t you done anything about him?” Erik asked, the low hum of displeasure and injustice rising under his words.

Wakti just laughed. “I am only a dream in a small boy’s mind. A boy he made, as it happens. He made all of them, put them out into the world. Waited for them to grow, ripen like bazuki berries, until he can make use of them.”

“He’s not waiting at all!” Charles said. “He sent little Bart out to kill, she’s eight years old and he sent her to murder someone!”

“And what would you do about it, Professor? Magneto?”

Charles couldn’t help but look at Erik. “A child shouldn’t be made to kill.”

Wakti patted him on the arm. “You’d better go and tell him that, then.”

“What?”

She pushed both of them into the water.

***

Charles opened his eyes and gasped for air, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Beside him Erik coughed violently. 

“I am just about sick of falling into different worlds!” Erik growled.

Charles burst into breathy laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “At least my chair didn’t hit a tree this time.” 

Erik turned to grin at him, then did a double take. “What the hell--”

“Your eyes!” Charles gasped.

“Yours too!”

Charles turned his face this way and that, peering at Erik’s wide eyes, the strange circles across the iris, like his pupil had bubbled off and multiplied, reflecting the millions of stars that surrounded them on all sides. “Weird,” he murmured.

“You’re weird,” Erik smirked. “Now, come on, let’s find this personification of the universe.”

“No need,” said a voice behind them.

Erik leaped to his feet, his hand outstretched, every molecule of metal in Charles’ chair vibrating. “Who-- wait. You’re one of them! Charles, this bastard was in Blackwing when I first got the children out.”

“Oh, you mean Riggins? No, I’m not him.” The portly old man turned his hands this way and that, stroked his drooping moustache. “The body became available, though - thanks for that.”

Charles rolled forward as Erik gritted his teeth. “We’ve come to talk to you about the children.”

“The what?”

Charles frowned. “The children - Dirk, Mona, Bart, Vogel, you know… the children. From Blackwing.”

“Oh, the tools? Yeah, what about them?”

Charles glanced at Erik, the low-level disgust and disbelief echoing between them. “They’re not tools, they are children! Children you are forcing to commit murder, to go places they don’t want to.”

“No, no, you don’t get it. They aren’t children. I _made_ them. I put them there so they could fix the mess this place has become, they’re not normal kids. They’re mine.”

Charles felt the anger rising up the back of his neck, the indignation - how dare he? How dare anyone treat a child this way? 

“And were they fixing your broken universe well?” snarled Erik. His fingers were twitching, clenching and unclenching, and through him, Charles could feel the absence of any metal at all, apart from that which they’d brought with them. “Were they bringing the earth back together from their prison? From where they were being tortured? Is this how you treat the people who do your dirty work?”

The Universe waved his hand dismissively. “Blackwing was a good idea, sort of got away from me, though. The Hunter gathered them all together - Priest really loves his role, you know? Really got that one right. But the CIA…” He shook his head and twisted his lips up. “They keep thinking they know best, they think those tools are for them. That’s why I let you tear the place apart. But you wouldn’t let them do their job either, so--” He shrugged. “I sent Priest back for them. He’s going to need the rest again.”

“You _let_ me?” Erik gaped. “You let me tear Blackwing apart?”

The Universe frowned and turned to face him head on for the first time. “I don’t think you get it. I am the Universe. I can do whatever I want. I let things happen.” He leaned over Charles, staring into his souls with dead eyes, speaking softly. “I can snap my fingers and have Priest kill your little blue friends, take back the other tools and keep them all in one place.”

Something inside Charles snapped at the threat. He had seen the cruelties Cain Marko dreamed of, and he’d stayed quiet and safe, hiding. He’d heard the hatred of tens of thousands, and kept his peace. He’d even seen Shaw’s mind, and he’d been able to control himself through excruciating pain and horror while Erik killed him. And faced with this, the callousness of this all-powerful being, Charles burned.

“You can do whatever you want, and yet you place children in harm’s way for no reason?” he said, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “You can do... _anything_, you can fix all the cruelty in the world, why, why would you contribute to it? Why?”

The Universe just smiled at him, a sneering, pitying look. “Why not?”

Charles barely felt the power as it flooded out of him, rushing into the personification of the universe and holding his every mimicked muscle still, storming through every neurone, every pathway, every connection. He felt his body gasp as his eyes opened to the feeling of the entire universe at his fingertips.

“Charles! Charles, what are you doing?” Erik cried, and Charles saw him on his knees, he saw him from the back, saw him from out of his old eyes, saw him from the vantage of every star in the sky. Saw his own face, and the rage that lived there now, the rage that had always been so carefully kept in check. “Oh, God, Charles, please come back,” Erik begged.

“I’m here,” he said, and the Universe said as well.

“What have you done?” Erik asked, frantic.

“It’s like… it’s like Cerebro,” Charles breathed. “Only so much more.”

There was the tiniest spark of fight left in this body the Universe had claimed for his own and Charles ripped it out to hover at his shoulder, the rage burning through his very soul and crackling at his fingertips. “Watch,” he said, and whispered, and roared. “Watch what you could achieve with power like this. What you could have done, instead of being cruel.”

He reached out into the universe, across the earth. Took hold of every hungry child and brought them food, lifted every pain away, brought every terrified soul to safety.

“This is what you could have been doing,” he said, and his voice echoed over time and space. “You are your own tool, you lazy, sadistic bastard.”

He sought them out, every cruel thought, every twist of the knife, every backhand and cigarette burn, every whip strike and every cutting word, and he _took_ them. He held the life of every tyrant in the palm of his hand, his fingers closing, ready to pull them away.

“Charles… Charles, no.”

Charles blinked, slow and heavy as planets turning. “Erik. You of all people should know this is the only way.”

Erik shook his head, his face contorted with some pain Charles couldn’t read. “No, Charles, it’s not, please.”

“I could make them be kind,” he said, and his voice ached. The words came slowly. “I could make all of them care for each other. No-one would ever live through the horrors you saw. Never again, Erik.”

Erik swallowed, and wiped his face, but it was starting to blur. Charles blinked and tried to hold the image, the power and the glory. Erik was shaking his head again. “You can’t, Charles. It’s not right.”

“Why isn’t it? Why? I could, Erik. I could make them all care. I could take all these cruelties away.”

“I just… I don’t know why, but I feel it.” He pressed his hand to his chest, and through blurred, double vision Charles saw his face was wet with tears. “It’s wrong. We need to _choose_ to do good.”

Charles’ hands trembled, the souls slipping through his fingers like ice. He struggled to hold them, take them away. “And what if they don’t?”

Erik took a deep breath, stroking his face. Charles couldn’t feel it through the burning. “Then we’ll do what we always do. We’ll save those who need saving. We’ll stop those that need stopping.”

“There’s so many,” Charles said. Whispered. His throat was torn, he could taste blood. The power drained from him. The body of the Universe fell to the ground and didn’t move. “We can’t save all of them.”

“I know,” Erik said, his face contorted with tears. Charles tried to lift his hand, to take his pain away, but he felt so heavy. “I know, Charles. But there are others like you, there must be. Others who want to help. And you… you’re dying. Please stop. Please come back to me, my love. Please.”

Charles fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is deliberate that Charles is planning to take over the world and Erik is preaching peace. They're two sides of the same coin, or bookends of the same soul, and way, way more similar than they think they are!
> 
> (By the way there is DEFINITELY a happy ending, guys, don't panic!)


	13. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's turn to be a BAMF

Erik caught Charles as he slumped in his arms, and lifted his limp body out of the wheelchair, onto his lap, as close as he could bring him. He held him close and tried to stop the tears from falling as he checked his heartbeat, praising a God he didn’t know he still believed in when he felt a weak pulse. He wiped the blood away from his precious face where it had seeped out from his eyes, his ears and his nose. “Charles… Charles, my love, hold on, you’re OK.”

The body that had once been Riggins moved, pushed himself up to his feet and stared at the two of them in horror. Erik swallowed down his fear and held out his hand, Charles’ wheelchair at once reduced to its component parts, an arsenal of its own against the uncaring Universe.

“What did you do?” the Universe said hoarsely to Charles. He swallowed, then looked at Erik, and Erik saw fear in his depthless eyes. “What _is_ he? What did he do to me? There are people all over the world who’ve developed a sudden coronary condition, what was he thinking?”

Erik cradled Charles closer to his chest as Charles shifted slightly and moaned, just on the edge of his hearing. “He was thinking that maybe you should do some of the work yourself.”

“But he can’t… he’s human… he _is_ human, isn’t he?”

Erik bared his teeth and brought the metal into a ring of spikes, pointing in a trembling collar around Riggins’ throat. “We are more than human. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave these children alone.”

“But I keep telling you, they’re not human! They’re not children, they’re my tools!”

“Then I suggest you wait until they stop _looking_ like children,” Erik hissed, elongating one of the spikes so that it dug into his neck, a bead of black, glittering blood running down the metal. Riggins’ eyes widened and he froze, all but his chest, rising and falling too fast. “You will leave the children - yes, the _children_ \- alone. At least until they come of age. You still have Priest, use him instead! You will bring the others home to us, and you’ll let them be children.”

The Universe swallowed. “Or what?” he croaked.

“Or it won’t just be Charles taking your powers away.”

He held the spear still, just digging into his flesh, for an eternity, hoping that he wouldn’t call his bluff. There was no way in hell he’d be letting Charles anywhere near this bastard ever again. At last the Universe nodded, just slightly. Erik retracted the metal and he sagged, clutching at the small wound on his throat. 

Erik stood with Charles in his arms and tried not to look as terrified and heartbroken as he felt. And then he realised he had no idea how to get back. 

He was just about to start panicking in earnest when he felt himself dragged backwards as if by his shoulders. He clung to Charles, curling his body around him and hoping that when they landed it wouldn’t be in a forest again. The sensation of falling lifted his stomach unpleasantly, and then there was a soft landing, a small, dark room, and a looming figure.

Erik wrapped himself around Charles’ prone form, rolling them over so he was shielding Charles. 

“Magneto, move yourself. Let me get to him, I can help,” Wakti Wapnasi said, shaking him with her spindly grip. 

Erik sat up, still with Charles cradled in his arms, and looked up at Wakti with suspicion and hope.

“What have you done to yourself, you foolish boy?” Wakti crooned, pinching Charles’ eyes open and wiping the last trickles of blood away. “Even a mind such as yours can’t take on a whole universe alone.”

“Will he be OK?” Erik croaked.

Wakti smiled up at him. “He will need time, and love. Both of which I believe you are well placed to give him, Son of Edie.”

Erik swallowed hard and ducked his head, pressing his forehead to Charles’ as Wakti bustled around, ordering her people to bring herbs and tinctures, muttering under her breath. It could have been magic, or it could have been imprecations against Charles’s stupidity - God knows he had a few things of his own to say on that particular subject. 

“Come back to me, Charles,” he whispered instead. “Don’t leave me here worrying about you.”

The bond between them stayed as silent as it had been since all that awful sound and sensation, when all that power and knowledge had drained away, leaving Charles bleeding and limp in his arms. Erik swallowed hard. 

Wakti peered into the pool, stroking her fingers over the water. “It looks like your threats have paid dividends,” she said. “I can see Mystique and the Beast with your missing children in their arms.”

“What?” Erik gasped.

Wakti smiled down at him. “I can feel the ripples in the universe. I can feel them, but I can’t control them, not like he does.” She shrugged. “He can’t control me either, but keeping him away from Francis is the extent of my power.”

“Will they be safe now?” Erik asked, hope rising in his chest. He hadn’t expected it to work. He’d barely expected to leave with his soul intact. He looked down at Charles. His soul was still in question as it was.

“He’ll leave them until they’re adults, I can see that much,” she said, stirring the water with a long fingernail. “He’s taken your suggestion to use Priest very seriously, I see, hmmm.” She chuckled to herself. “You have your children back. Congratulations.”

Erik laughed and stroked Charles’ hair back from his face. “Hear that?” he said softly. “The children are home, Charles. Won’t you come back to see them?”

“You take him home,” she said softly. “Take him back to where he is loved, and keep calling him home. He’ll come. Trust an old witch.”

Erik kept his eyes on Charles until his gaze blurred with tears, then pressed his forehead to Charles’ temple and wept silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww last chapter coming up at the end of this week ;_; I'll miss this story so much, and thank you to everyone who's supported it, ESPECIALLY FlightInFlame who basically keeps this entire universe alive inside her head!


	14. Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIIIIIIEEEE!!!

“Would you have let him do it?” Raven asked softly. “If it hadn’t, well…” she gestured at Charles, lying still between them. “Would you have felt differently?” 

She and Erik sat across from each other, holding a vigil over Charles’ still form. Hank and Wakti had both checked him over and assured them that he was simply exhausted, but Erik couldn’t leave his side. He kept remembering Charles’ face as the power tore him apart, the way the strange patterns in his eyes had seemed to tear, rend themselves apart and colour his whole eye black.

He was quiet for a long time. Raven shifted in her seat, but held her tongue. 

“No,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t.”

“He could have taken away so much bad from the world. People like--”

“Don’t,” Erik said sharply.

“Sorry,” she murmured, her head dropping. She leaned forward and took Charles’ hand, and he knew she’d leave it there if he didn’t say any more, respecting his privacy in this.

Erik cleared his throat. “It’s got to be free will,” he said. “I’m not naive, you know that. I don’t believe in the inherent goodness of people. But I also don’t…” He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, frustrated. “It just doesn’t count if people don’t choose to do the right thing by themselves.”

“There’d be a lot less pain if people were forced to do the right thing, though,” she said wryly.

He snorted. “Yes, because they would all _be_ Charles. Everyone in the world would be Charles Xavier. Does that seem right to you?”

She frowned down at her hands.

“This world is cruel and fucked up, because some people see no consequences for acting horribly. But it is our world. We have the freedom to choose. That’s what happens. If Charles were to take away our free will, it would be a different world, one occupied only by a single man’s mind, making puppets of us all. And I love Charles. I…” He swallowed and clenched his hands into fists. “I love him more than anything else. But he’s not God, and he shouldn’t have to be.”

Raven looked up at him, her amber eyes soft and shimmering in the low light. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I see what you mean.” She smiled suddenly. “Charles always did think he knew best, it was only a matter of time before he started playing God, really.”

Erik didn’t smile back, choosing to watch Charles’ face as he frowned in his sleep.

“So what now?” Raven asked. “I suppose we just go on as we always have.”

“The children won’t be getting any more impulses from the Universe. Not until they’re adults in any case, which I appreciate isn’t that long for Martin. I suppose Charles will want to restart the school. And the world will go on pretty much as it was, with people choosing good and evil as they always have.” He gave her a sharp grin. “Although certain people might find their hearts aren’t as strong as they were. The Universe said something about Charles holding their lives in his hand for long enough that it affected their bodies.”

Raven snorted and shook her head. “Only my brother would try to take over the world to make people be nice to each other.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going to turn in. I’ll leave you to watch him in his sleep like a creeper.”

“Goodnight, Raven,” Erik smirked.

“‘Night, Erik.”

As the door shut behind her, Erik shifted closer to Charles’ bed, linking their fingers together, bringing his hand up to his mouth to kiss. The shadows on the wall moved slowly, and Erik seemed to slip into a dream without closing his eyes, the world turning beneath him, and the balance in his soul leaning further towards serenity, towards acceptance, than Erik had ever felt.

It might have been hours before he felt Charles’ hand tense beneath his, before his body shifted and his face contort into a grimace. “Erik?” said Charles softly, pressing his hand to his eye socket.

“Charles,” said Erik, startling out of his meditative state and reaching out to caress Charles’ cheek. “Stay still, Hank said you’d have a terrible headache when you woke up.”

He reached over to the drawers to fetch the telepath-grade painkillers - now that Charles was properly conscious and feeling pain, it was leaking out around his shields, throbbing in Erik’s temples in a ghost of what Charles must have been feeling. Erik lifted him gently, supporting his shoulders while he drank down the pills with a glass of water.

Erik smiled at him as he slumped back onto the pillows, unable to contain the sheer relief and joy at seeing Charles awake again. 

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Charles said, peering at him out of one eye, the other pinched shut. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Erik kissed him on his forehead, his temples, his dry, cracked lips. “I would rather be fighting at your side and afraid, than away from you and ignorant of your pain.”

Charles closed his eyes and turned away. “I don’t know how you can even stand to be near me,” he said, the tremor in his voice poorly hidden. “I tried to… I tried to take over everything. I _did_ take over everything. I nearly killed… so many people.”

“Yes, it’s terrible, you’re stealing my world domination role,” Erik quipped.

Charles didn’t reply. Their bond was tightly shut, or would have been if the pain of Charles’ migraine wasn’t piercing holes all over his shields. Erik could feel Charles’ shame and self-loathing seeping out of the gaps. “Charles,” he said softly, taking his hand. 

Charles turned back to him, wiping the tears that escaped. “I’m so sorry, Erik.”

“Do you know what I saw, when you took over the universe?” Erik said, kissing the back of his hand. “I saw such incredible power and conviction, and all you wanted was to bring goodness to people, to take away their pain. But that’s not your job.”

Charles had given up on stemming his tears. He pressed his face to the pillow, gripping hard to Erik’s hand as though afraid he’d be taken away.

“Anyway,” Erik said, combing his fingers through Charles’ hair. “You’re needed right here. We’re back to seven children again, and although they still have their powers, they won’t be receiving instructions from the Universe until they’re adults. We also have a comatose young man who is apparently dreaming an entire world into being, and that world would like him back - Wakti Wapnasi has an idea for bringing Francis into Wendimoor where he will… what was it again? Oh, where he will ‘reign for a thousand years of peace’.”

Charles tugged Erik close enough to kiss him properly, lips parting gently around each other in the quiet of the night. “And are those the only reasons I’m needed here?” he asked.

“Fishing, are we?” Erik grinned. He stroked Charles’ cheekbone with his thumb. He bit his lip and took a leap of faith. “I think, now, that we do want the same things,” he said. “And I still want you by my side. Always.”

Charles smiled and pulled him close. “Then you’d better stay with me.”

***

When Erik next woke, curled up next to Charles on the narrow bed, it was to Vogel and Mona rushing into the room. “Charles! Charles, you’re awake!”

“Shhh, I am, but Erik’s… oh. Never mind,” Charles sighed, and kissed Erik’s forehead as he stretched.

Erik sat up and slipped off the bed onto the chair so Charles could shift himself upright. Mona was sitting in Charles’ lap talking at high speed about how a hole had formed right in the fabric of space and time in their living room, and dumped Bart, Vogel and Martin on the carpet at Raven’s feet.

Erik turned to see Bart standing in the doorway, her head low, kicking at the doorjamb with the toe of her shoe. His heart twinged.

_Go talk to her_, Charles said in his mind.

Erik looked up. Charles had two small children snuggled up against him, Dirk was just starting to look like he might be about to climb onto the bed too, and Erik smiled fondly. _Are you sure you’re OK with all of them?_

_I think I’ll be fine,_ Charles said wryly. _Cuddled to within an inch of my life, poor me._

Erik chuckled as Mona beckoned Dirk up onto the bed and turned into a rabbit to make space. Vogel shrieked and picked the rabbit up. “Mona, you’re so soft! I wanna put you on my head, be my hat!”

“Oh, goodness, Vogel, don’t do that, if she falls she’ll be hurt,” Charles said.

Mona simply turned into a fluffy Davy Crockett hat.

“Yes, I suppose that’s fine,” Charles sighed, and put his arm around Dirk, who’d tucked himself close against Charles’ chest.

Erik shook his head and walked over to Bart, feeling almost as awkward as she looked. “Are you OK?” he asked at last.

Bart shrugged.

“Did he hurt you?”

Bart glanced up at him, then shook her head. “He smacked Martin, though,” she mumbled. “I told him not to, but…” She shrugged again.

Erik clenched and unclenched his fists then dropped to his knee. “Bart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was scared, but that’s no excuse - I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“So… you don’t wanna send me away?” she asked in a very small voice.

“No, I don’t. I’m so sorry, Bart.”

She stared down at her feet, her riotous hair covering her face. “I don’t… I didn’t.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you wouldn’t… like it. I’m sorry. I’d’a tried to fight the Universe if I’d known.”

“Bart,” he said, his voice hoarse, and reached for her hand. It was so small in his own, her fingers delicate and fine-boned, but rough with violence. They froze on the precipice for a moment, then Bart launched herself into his arms, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and trembling with the strength of all her repressed emotions. Erik hugged her tightly to him, kissing her temple. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand, and I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder. I’ll do better… please give me another chance?”

“I’ll always give you another chance, Mr Erik,” Bart sniffled. “You’re the best.”

Erik closed his eyes and didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t crying.

***

Raven looked up from the book she was reading to Gripps as the rest of them trooped into the kitchen. She burst into laughter.

“What?” Erik frowned. He shifted to adjust Bart, who was really just a little bit too heavy and a big bit too tall to be carried on his hip, but exceptions just had to be made sometimes.

“You two,” Raven grinned. She nudged Hank, who was cooking and reading a journal at the same time. “Look at these two actual dads and their four baby ducklings.”

Erik blinked at her. He looked down at Charles, who had Dirk and Vogel on his lap, Mona draped over his neck as a scarf - she turned into a duckling and sat on Charles’ shoulder with a little peep noise. Charles looked back up at Erik, his mind shocked into blankness.

“Awesome! Can you be our dads? Please?” Vogel begged, jumping up and down on Charles’ leg. Duckling Mona peeped indignantly and slipped onto Charles’ lap, where Dirk caught her and petted her head gently.

Charles lips twitched, and that was it for Erik. He burst out laughing, barely able to hold Bart on his hip. She grinned and slipped down to stand as Erik leant on Charles’ old wheelchair, still slightly hysterical. 

“Calm down, Daddy,” Mona said, turning into a child again and patting his back.

Erik picked her up and spun her around so she shrieked. “Oh, Daddy, is it? And what are you going to call Charles, then?”

“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Vogel yelped. 

Charles rolled his eyes and grabbed him to hold him still, but Erik could see the blush forming across his cheeks as he glanced up at Erik. “I suppose you’re going to have to stick around for the long term, then.”

Erik bent down and kissed Charles softly. “That was the general idea.”

“What happened to ‘peace was never an option’?”

Erik smiled and brushed his thumb along Charles’ cheekbone. “You have a habit of changing my plans, Charles.”

Charles smiled and leaned his forehead against Erik’s, and through their bond he felt the warm, soft glow of love, spreading out across their family. Three teenage boys, two eight-year-olds, a five year old shapeshifter and a five year old chaos monger. A blue furry uncle, a blue scaly aunt, and two idiot men who’d taken over a decade to admit that their love for each other was strong enough to keep them together through anything that the universe could throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for supporting this madness!! I love you all ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> I also write a sort-of-regular blog about my original novels on [Wordpress](https://lynhemphillauthor.wordpress.com/), and I talk all sorts of bollocks on Tumblr as [Gold-From-Straw](https://gold-from-straw.tumblr.com/) too! Come say hi if you like!


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